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One  of  the  " Forty"     *  *  * 

^  *  ^  *  By  Alphonse  Daudet 

Translated  from  the  French  by  *g  -£  & 
A.  W.Verrall  and  Margaret  de  G.  Verrall 


Chicago  and  New  York  *  *  * 
Rand,  McNally  &  Company 
*************** 


ONE    OF    THE    "FORTY." 

(l'immortel) 


CHAPTER    I. 

In  the  18S0  edition  of  Men  of  the  Day,  under  the 

heading   Astier-Rehu,    may   be   read    the    following 

notice : — 

Astier,  commonly  called  Astier-Rehu  {Pierre  Alexandre 
Leonard),  Member  of  the  Academie  Franfaise,  was  born  in 
1816  at  Sauvagnat  (Puy-de-Dome).  His  parents  belonged  to 
the  class  of  small  farmers.  He  displayed  from  his  earliest 
years  a  remarkable  aptitude  for  the  study  of  history.  His 
education,  begun  at  Riom  and  continued  at  Louis-le- Grand, 
where  he  was  afterwards  to  re-appear  as  professor,  was  more 
sound  than  is  now  fashionable,  a?id  secured  his  admission  to 
the  Ecole  Normale  Superieure,  from  which  he  went  to  the 
Chair  of  History  at  the  Lycee  of  Mende.  It  was  here  that 
he  wrote  the  Essay  on  Marcus  Aurelius,  crotvned  by  the 
Academie  Frangaise.  Called  to  Paris  the  following  year  by 
M.  de  Salvatidy,  the  young  and  brilliant  professor  showed  his 
sense  of  the  discerning  favour  extended  to  him  by  publishing, 
in  rapid  succession,  The  Great  Ministers  of  Louis  XIV. 
(crotvned  by  the  Academie  Francaise),  Bonaparte  and  the 

B 


2  ONE   OF   THE   '  FORTY  ' 

Concordat  (crowned  by  the  Academie  Fraufaise),  and  the 
admirable  Introduction  to  the  History  of  the  House 
of  Orleans,  a  magnificent  prologue  to  the  work  which 
was  to  occupy  twenty  years  of  his  life.  This  time  the 
Academie,  having  no  more  crcnuns  to  offer  him,  gave  him 
a  seat  among  its  members.  He  could  scarcely  be  called  a 
stranger  there,  having  married  Mile.  Rehu,  daughter  of  the 
lamented  Pauli7i  Rehu,  the  celebrated  architect,  member  of  the 
Academie  des  Inscriptions  et  Belles-Lettres,  and  grand- 
daughter of  the  highly  respected  Jean  Rehu,  the  father  of  the 
Academie  Franfaise,  the  elegant  translator  of  Ovid  and 
author  of  the  Letters  to  Urania,  whose  hale  old  age  is 
the  miracle  of  the  Institute.  By  his  friend  and  colleague 
M.  Thiers  Ieo?iard  Astier-Rehu  7vas  called  to  the  post  of 
Keeper  of  the  Archives  of  Foreign  Affairs.  It  is  well  known 
that,  with  a  noble  disregard  of  his  interests,  he  resigned,  some 
years  later  (1878),  rather  than  that  the  impartial  pen  of 
history  should  stoop  to  the  demands  of  our  present  rulers. 
Rut  deprived  of  his  beloved  archives,  the  author  has  turned 
his  leisure  to  good  account.  In  two  years  he  has  given  us  the 
last  three  volumes  of  his  history,  and  announces  shortly  New 
Lights  on  Galileo,  based  upon  documents  extremely 
curious  and  absolutely  unpublished.  All  the  works  of  Astier- 
Rehu  may  be  had  of  Petit- Sequard,  Bookseller  to  the  Acade- 
mie. 

As  the  publisher  of  this  book  of  reference  entrusts 
to  each  person  concerned  the  task  of  telling  his  own 
story,  no  doubt  can  possibly  be  thrown  upon  the 
authenticity  of  these  biographical  notes.  But  why 
must  it  be  asserted  that  Leonard  Astier-Rehu  re- 
signed his  post  as  Keeper  of  the  Archives  ?  Every 
one  knows  that  he  was  dismissed,  sent  away  with  no 


ONE   OF   THE   '  FORTY  '  3 

more  ceremony  than  a  hackney-cabman,  because  of 
an  imprudent  phrase  let  slip  by  the  historian  of  the 
House  of  Orleans,  vol.  v.  p.  327  :  '  Then,  as  to-day, 
France,  overwhelmed  by  the  flood  of  demagogy,  etc' 
Who  can  see  the  end  of  a  metaphor  ?  His  salary  of 
five  hundred  pounds  a  year,  his  rooms  in  the  Quai 
d'Orsay  (with  coals  and  gas)  and,  besides,  that  won- 
derful treasure  of  historic  documents,  which  had  sup- 
plied the  sap  of  his  books,  all  this  had  been  carried 
away  from  him  by  this  unlucky  'flood,'  all  by  his 
own  flood  !  The  poor  man  could  not  get  over  it. 
Even  after  the  lapse  of  two  years,  regret  for  the  ease 
and  the  honours  of  his  office  gnawed  at  his  heart, 
and  gnawed  with  a  sharper  tooth  on  certain  dates, 
certain  days  of  the  month  or  the  week,  and  above  all 
on  'Teyssedre's  Wednesdays.'  Teyssedre  was  the 
man  who  polished  the  floors.  He  came  to  the  Astiers' 
regularly  every  Wednesday.  On  the  afternoon  of 
that  day  Madame  Astier  was  at  home  to  her  friends 
in  her  husband's  study,  this  being  the  only  presentable 
apartment  of  their  third  floor  in  the  Rue  de  Beaune, 
the  remains  of  a  grand  house,  terribly  inconvenient 
in  spite  of  its  magnificent  ceiling.  The  disturbance 
caused  to  the  illustrious  historian  by  this  '  Wednes- 
day,' recurring  every  week  and  interrupting  his  indus- 
trious and  methodical  labours,  may  easily  be  con- 
ceived.    He  had  come  to  hate  the  rubber  of  floors,  a 

B  2 


4  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

man  from  his  own  country,  with  a  face  as  yellow, 
close,  and  hard  as  his  own  cake  of  beeswax.  He 
hated  Teyssedre,  who,  proud  of  coming  from  Riom, 
while  ' Meuchieu  Achtier  came  only  from  Chauvagnat' 
had  no  scruple  in  pushing  about  the  heavy  table 
covered  with  pamphlets,  notes,  and  reports,  and 
hunted  the  illustrious  victim  from  room  to  room  till 
he  was  driven  to  seek  refuge  in  a  kind  of  pigeon-hole 
over  the  study,  where,  though  not  a  big  man,  he 
must  sit  for  want  of  room  to  get  up.  This  lumber- 
closet,  which  was  furnished  with  an  old  damask  chair, 
an  aged  card-table  and  a  stand  of  drawers,  looked 
out  on  the  courtyard  through  the  upper  circle  of  the 
great  window  belonging  to  the  room  below.  Through 
this  opening,  much  resembling  the  low  glass  door  of 
an  orangery,  the  travailing  historian  might  be  seen 
from  head  to  foot,  miserably  doubled  up  like  Cardinal 
La  Balue  in  his  cage.  It  was  here  that  he  was  sitting 
one  morning  with  his  eyes  upon  an  ancient  scrawl, 
having  been  already  expelled  from  the  lower  room  by 
the  bang-bang-bang  of  Teyssedre,  when  he  heard  the 
sound  of  the  front  door  bell. 

'  Is  that  you,  Fage  ?  '  asked  the   Academician  in 
his  deep  and  resonant  bass. 

1  No,  Meuchieu  Achtier.     It  is  the  young  gentle- 
man.' 

On   Wednesday    mornings    the   polisher   opened 


ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY'  5 

the    door,    because    Corentine    was     dressing     her 
mistress. 

'  How's  The  Masterl '  cried  Paul  Astier,  hurrying 
by  to  his  mother's  room.  The  Academician  did  not 
answer.  His  son's  habit  of  using  ironically  a  title 
generally  bestowed  upon  him  as  a  compliment  was 
always  offensive  to  him. 

'  M.  Fage  is  to  be  shown  up  as  soon  as  he  comes,' 
he  said,  not  addressing  himself  directly  to  the 
polisher. 

'Yes,  Menchicu  Achtier*  And  the  bang-bang- 
bang  began  again. 

'  Good  morning,  mamma.' 

'  Why,  it's  Paul !  Come  in.  Mind  the  folds,  Co- 
rentine.' 

Madame  Astier  was  putting  on  a  skirt  before  the 
looking-glass.  She  was  tall,  slender,  and  still  good- 
looking  in  spite  of  her  worn  features  and  her  too 
delicate  skin.  She  did  not  move,  but  held  out  to 
him  a  cheek  with  a  velvet  surface  of  powder.  He 
touched  it  with  his  fair  pointed  beard.  The  son  was 
as  little  demonstrative  as  the  mother. 

1  Will  M.  Paul  stay  to  breakfast  ? '  asked  Coren- 
tine. She  was  a  stout  countrywoman  of  an  oily  com- 
plexion, pitted  with  smallpox.  She  was  sitting  on 
the  carpet  like  a  shepherdess  in  the  fields,  and  was 
about  to  repair,  at  the  hem  of  the  skirt,  her  mistress's 


6  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

old  black  dress.  Her  tone  and  her  attitude  showed 
the  objectionable  familiarity  of  the  under-paid  maid- 
of-all-work. 

No,  Paul  would  not  stay  to  breakfast  He  was 
expected  elsewhere.  He  had  his  buggy  below ;  he 
had  only  come  to  say  a  word  to  his  mother. 

1  Your  new  English  cart  ?  Let  me  look,'  said 
Madame  Astier.  She  went  to  the  open  window,  and 
parted  the  Venetian  blinds,  on  which  the  bright  May 
sunlight  lay  in  stripes,  just  far  enough  to  see  the  neat 
little  vehicle,  shining  with  new  leather  and  polished 
pinewood,  and  the  servant  in  spotless  livery  standing 
at  the  horse's  head. 

*  Oh,  ma'am,  how  beautiful ! '  murmured  Coren- 
tine,  who  was  also  at  the  window.  '  How  nice  M. 
Paul  must  look  in  it ! ' 

The  mother's  face  shone.  But  windows  were 
opening  opposite,  and  people  were  stopping  before 
the  equipage,  which  was  creating  quite  a  sensation  at 
this  end  of  the  Rue  de  Beaune.  Madame  Astier 
sent  away  the  servant,  seated  herself  on  the  edge  of 
a  folding-chair,  and  finished  mending  her  skirt  for 
herself,  while  she  waited  for  what  her  son  had  to  say 
to  her,  not  without  a  suspicion  what  it  would  be, 
though  her  attention  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  her 
sewing.  Paul  Astier  was  equally  silent.  He  leaned 
back  in  an  arm-chair  and  played  with  an  ivory  fan, 


ONE  OF   THE   '  FORTY  '  7 

an  old  thing  which  he  had  known  for  his  mother's 
ever  since  he  was  born.  Seen  thus,  the  likeness 
between  them  was  striking  ;  the  same  Creole  skin, 
pink  over  a  delicate  duskiness,  the  same  supple  figure, 
the  same  impenetrable  grey  eye,  and  in  both  faces  a 
slight  defect  hardly  to  be  noticed  ;  the  finely-cut  nose 
was  a  little  out  of  line,  giving  an  expression  of  sly- 
ness, of  something  not  to  be  trusted.  While  each 
watched  and  waited  for  the  other,  the  pause  was 
filled  by  the  distant  brushing  of  Teyssedre. 

'  Rather  good,  that,'  said  Paul. 

His  mother  looked  up.     '  What  is  rather  good  ?' 

He  raised  the  fan  and  pointed,  like  an  artist,  at 
the  bare  arms  and  the  line  of  the  falling  shoulders 
under  the  fine  cambric  bodice.     She  began  to  laugh. 

'  Yes,  but  look  here.'  She  pointed  to  her  long 
neck,  where  the  fine  wrinkles  marked  her  age.  'But 
after  all,'  .  .  .  you  have  the  good  looks,  so  what  does 
it  matter  ?  Such  was  her  thought,  but  she  did  not 
express  it.  A  brilliant  talker,  perfectly  trained  in 
the  fibs  and  commonplaces  of  society,  a  perfect  adept 
in  expression  and  suggestion,  she  was  left  without 
words  for  the  only  real  feeling  which  she  had  ever 
experienced.  And  indeed  she  really  was  not  one  of 
those  women  who  cannot  make  up  their  minds  to 
grow  old.  Long  before  the  hour  of  curfew — though 
indeed  there  had  perhaps  never  been  much  fire  in  her 


8  ONE   OF   THE   '  FORTY  ' 

to  put  out — all  her  coquetry,  all  her  feminine  eager- 
ness to  captivate  and  charm,  all  her  aspirations 
towards  fame  or  fashion  or  social  success  had  been 
transferred  to  the  account  of  her  son,  this  tall,  good- 
looking  young  fellow  in  the  correct  attire  of  the 
modern  artist,  with  his  slight  beard  and  close-cut 
hair,  who  showed  in  mien  and  bearing  that  soldierly 
grace  which  our  young  men  of  the  day  get  from  their 
service  as  volunteers. 

1  Is  your  first  floor  let  ? '  asked  the  mother  at  last. 

1  Let !  let !  Not  a  sign  of  it !  All  the  bills  and 
advertisements  no  go  !  "I  don't  know  what  is  the 
matter  with  them  ;  but  they  don't  come,"  as  Vedrine 
said  at  his  private  exhibition.' 

He  laughed  quietly,  at  an  inward  vision  of  Ve- 
drine among  his  enamels  and  his  sculptures,  calm, 
proud,  and  self-assured,  wondering  without  anger  at 
the  non-appearance  of  the  public.  But  Madame 
Astier  did  not  laugh.  That  splendid  first  floor  empty 
for  the  last  two  years !  In  the  Rue  Fortuny !  A 
magnificent  situation — a  house  in  the  style  of  Louis 
XII. — a  house  built  by  her  son  !  Why,  what  did 
people  want  ?  The  same  people,  doubtless,  who  did 
not  go  to  Vedrine.  Biting  off  the  thread  with  which 
she  had  been  sewing,  she  said  : 

'  And  it  is  worth  taking,  too  ! ' 

'  Quite  ;  but  it  would  want  money  to  keep  it  up.' 


ONE  OF   THE  '  FORTY  '  9 

The  people  at  the  Credit  Foncier  would  not  be  satis- 
fied. And  the  contractors  were  upon  him — four 
hundred  pounds  for  carpenter's  work  due  at  the  end 
of  the  month,  and  he  hadn't  a  penny  of  it. 

The  mother,  who  was  putting  on  the  bodice  of 
her  dress  before  the  looking-glass,  grew  pale  and  saw 
that  she  did  so.  It  was  the  shiver  that  you  feel  in  a 
duel,  when  your  adversary  raises  his  pistol  to  take 
aim. 

'  You  have  had  the  money  for  the  restorations  at 
Mousseaux  ? ' 

'  Mousseaux  !     Long  ago.' 

'  And  the  Rosen  tomb  ?  ' 

•  Can't  get  on.     Vedrine  still  at  his  statue.' 

'Yes,  and  why  must  you  have  Vedrine?  Your 
father  warned  you  against  him.' 

'  Oh,  I  know.  They  can't  bear  him  at  the  Insti- 
tute.' 

He  rose  and  walked  about  the  room. 

'  You  know  me,  come.  I  am  a  practical  man.  If 
I  took  him  and  not  some  one  else  to  do  my  statue, 
you  may  suppose  that  I  had  a  reason.'  Then  sud- 
denly, turning  to  his  mother  : 

1  You  could  not  let  me  have  four  hundred  pounds, 
I  suppose  ? '  She  had  been  waiting  for  this  ever 
since  he  came  in  ;  he  never  came  to  see  her  for 
anything  else. 


IO  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

'  Four   hundred   pounds  ?     How   can   you   think 


She  said  no  more  ;  but  the  pained  expression  of 
her  mouth  and  eyes  said  clearly  enough : 

'  You  know  that  I  have  given  you  everything — 
that  I  am  dressed  in  clothes  fit  for  the  rag-bag  -that 
I  have  not  bought  a  bonnet  for  three  years — that 
Corentine  washes  my  linen  in  the  kitchen  because  I 
should  blush  to  give  such  rubbish  to  the  laundress ; 
and  you  know  also  that  my  worst  misery  is  to  refuse 
what  you  ask.  Then  why  do  you  ask  ?  '  And  this 
mute  address  of  his  mother's  was  so  eloquent  that 
Paul  Astier  answered  it  aloud  : 

'  Of  course  I  was  not  thinking  of  your  having  it 
yourself.  By  Jove,  if  you  had,  it  would  be  the  better 
for  me.  But/  he  continued,  in  his  cool,  off-hand  way, 
'  there  is  The  Master  up  there.  Could  you  get  it 
from  him  ?  You  might.  You  know  how  to  get  hold 
of  him.' 

1  That  is  over.     There  is  an  end  of  that' 

'  Well,  but,  you  know,  he  works  ;  his  books  sell ; 
you  spend  nothing.' 

He  looked  round  in  the  subdued  light  at  the  re- 
duced state  of  the  old  furniture,  the  worn  curtains, 
the  threadbare  carpet,  nothing  of  later  date  than  their 
marriage  thirty  years  ago.  Where  was  it  then  that 
all  the  money  went  ? 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  II 

1 1  say/  he  began  again,  '  I  wonder  whether  my 
venerable  sire  is  in  the  habit  of  taking  his  fling  ? ' 

It  was  an  idea  so  monstrous,  so  inconceivable, 
that  of  Leonard  Astier-Rt^hu  '  taking  his  fling,'  that 
his  wife  could  not  help  smiling  in  spite  of  herself. 
No,  on  that  point  she  thought  there  was  no  need  for 
uneasiness.  •  Only,  you  know,  he  has  turned  sus- 
picious and  mysterious,  and  "  buries  his  hoard."  We 
have  gone  too  far  with  him.' 

They  spoke  low,  like  conspirators,  with  their  eyes 
upon  the  carpet. 

'  And  grandpapa,'  said  Paul,  but  not  in  a  tone  of 
confidence,  '  could  you  try  him  ?  ' 

'  Grandpapa  ?     You  must  be  mad  ! ' 

Yet  he  knew  well  enough  what  old  R^hu  was. 
A  touchy,  selfish  man  all  but  a  hundred  years  old, 
who  would  have  seen  them  all  die  rather  than  deprive 
himself  of  a  pinch  of  snuff  or  a  single  one  of  the  pins 
that  were  always  stuck  on  the  lapels  of  his  coat.  Ah, 
poor  child  !  He  must  be  hard  up  indeed  before  he 
could  think  of  his  grandfather. 

1  Well,  you  would  not  like  me  to  try .'     She 

paused. 

1  To  try  where  ?  ' 

1  In  the  Rue  de  Courcelles.  I  might  get  some- 
thing in  advance  for  the  tomb.' 

'  There  ?     Good  Heavens  !     You  had  better  not ! ' 


12  ONE  OF  THE  '  FORTY  ' 

He  spoke  to  her  imperiously,  with  pale  lips  and  a 
disagreeable  expression  in  his  eye  ;  then  recovering 
his  self-contained  and  fleering  tone,  he  said  : 

'  Don't  trouble  any  more  about  it.  It  is  only  a 
crisis  to  be  got  through.  I  have  had  plenty  before 
now.' 

She  held  out  to  him  his  hat,  which  he  was  looking 
for.  As  he  could  get  nothing  from  her,  he  would  be 
off.  To  keep  him  a  few  minutes  longer,  she  began 
talking  of  an  important  business  which  she  had  in 
hand — a  marriage,  which  she  had  been  asked  to 
arrange. 

At  the  word  marriage  he  started  and  looked  at 
her  askance  :  '  Who  was  it  ? '  She  had  promised  to 
say  nothing  at  present.  But  she  could  not  refuse  him. 
It  was  the  Prince  d'Athis. 

'  Who  is  the  lady  ?  '  he  asked. 

It  was  her  turn  now  to  show  him  the  side  view  of 
her  crooked  nose. 

'  You  do  not  know  the  lady.  She  is  a  foreigner 
with  a  fortune.  If  I  succeed  I  might  help  you.  I 
have  made  my  terms  in  black  and  white.' 

He  smiled,  completely  reassured. 

1  And  how  does  the  Duchess  take  it  ? ' 

'  She  knows  nothing  of  it,  of  course.' 

'  Her  Sammy !  Her  dear  prince !  And  after 
fifteen  years  ! ' 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY'  1 3 

Madame  Astier's  gesture  expressed  the  utter  care- 
lessness of  one  woman  for  the  feelings  of  another. 

'  What  else  could  she  expect  at  her  age  ? '  said  she. 

'  Why,  what  is  her  age  ? ' 

'  She  was  born  in  1827.  We  are  in  1880.  You 
can  do  the  sum.     Just  a  year  older  than  myself.' 

'  The  Duchess  ! '  cried  Paul,  stupefied. 

His  mother  laughed  as  she  said,  '  Why,  yes,  you 
rude  boy  !  What  are  you  surprised  at  ?  I  am  sure 
you  thought  her  twenty  years  younger.  It's  a  fact,  it 
seems,  that  the  most  experienced  of  you  know 
nothing  about  women.  Well,  you  see,  the  poor 
prince  could  not  have  her  hanging  on  to  him  all  his 
life.  Besides,  one  of  these  days  the  old  Duke  will 
die,  and  then  where  would  he  be  ?  Fancy  him  tied 
to  that  old  woman  ! ' 

'  Well,'  said  Paul,  '  so  much  for  your  dear  friend  ! ' 

She  fired  at  this.  Her  dear  friend !  The 
Duchess  !  A  pretty  friend !  A  woman  who,  with 
twenty-five  thousand  a  year — intimate  as  she  was 
with  her,  and  well  aware  of  their  difficulties — had 
never  so  much  as  thought  of  helping  them !  What 
was  the  present  of  an  occasional  dress  ?  Or  the 
permission  to  choose  a  bonnet  at  her  milliner's? 
Presents  for  use  !     There  was  no  pleasure  in  them. 

'  Like  grandpapa  Rehu's  on  New  Year's  day,'  put 
in  Paul  assenting.     '  An  atlas,  or  a  globe  ! 


14  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY1 

1  Oh,  Antonia  is,  I  really  think,  more  stingy  still. 
When  we  were  at  Mousseaux,  in  the  middle  of  the 
fruit  season,  if  Sammy  was  not  there,  do  you  re- 
member the  dry  plums  they  gave  us  for  dessert  1 
There  is  plenty  in  the  orchard  and  the  kitchen  gar- 
den, but  everything  is  sent  to  market  at  Blois  or 
Vend6me.  It  runs  in  her  blood,  you  know.  Her 
father,  the  Marshal,  was  famous  for  it  at  the  Court  of 
Louis  Philippe ;  and  it  was  something  to  be  thought 
stingy  at  the  Court  of  Louis  Philippe  !  These  great 
Corsican  families  are  all  alike  ;  nothing  but  meanness 
and  pretension  !  They  will  eat  chestnuts,  such  as  the 
pigs  would  not  touch,  off  plate  with  their  arms  on  it. 
And  as  for  the  Duchess — why,  she  makes  her  steward 
account  to  her  in  person  !  They  take  the  meat  up 
to  her  every  morning ;  and  every  evening  (this  is 
from  a  person  who  knows),  when  she  has  gone  to  her 
grand  bed  with  the  lace,  at  that  tender  moment  she 
balances  her  books  ! ' 

Madame  Astier  was  nearly  breathless.  Her  small 
voice  grew  sharp  and  shrill,  like  the  cry  of  a  sea-bird 
from  the  masthead.  Meanwhile  Paul,  amused  at 
first,  had  begun  to  listen  impatiently,  with  his 
thoughts  elsewhere.  '  I  am  off,'  said  he  abruptly. 
'  I  have  a  breakfast  with  some  business  people — very 
important.' 

J  An  order  ? ' 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  1 5 

'  No,  not  architect's  business  this  time.' 

She  wanted  him  to  satisfy  her  curiosity,  but  he 
went  on,  '  Not  now  ;  another  time  ;  it's  not  settled.' 
An  .1  finally,  as  he  gave  his  mother  a  little  kiss,  he 
whispered  in  her  ear,  '  All  the  same,  do  not  forget 
my  four  hundred.' 

But  for  this  grown-up  son,  who  was  a  secret  cause 
of  division,  the  Astier-Rehus  would  have  had  a  happy 
household,  as  the  world,  and  in  particular  the  Aca- 
demic world,  measures  household  happiness.  After 
thirty  years  their  mutual  sentiments  remained  the 
same,  kept  beneath  the  snow  at  the  temperature  of 
what  gardeners  call  a  '  cold-bed.'  When,  about  -^'50, 
Professor  Astier,  after  brilliant  successes  at  the  In- 
stitute, sued  for  the  hand  of  Mademoiselle  Adelaide 
Rehu,  who  at  that  time  lived  with  her  grandfather  at 
the  Palais  Mazarin,  it  was  not  the  delicate  and  slender 
beauty  of  his  betrothed,  it  was  not  the  bloom  of  her 
'  Aurora '  face,  which  were  the  real  attractions  for 
him.  Neither  was  it  her  fortune.  For  the  parents  of 
Mademoiselle  Adelaide,  who  died  suddenly  of  cholera, 
had  left  her  but  little  ;  and  the  grandfather,  a  Creole 
from  Martinique,  an  old  beau  of  the  time  of  the  Di- 
rectory, a  gambler,  a  free  liver,  great  in  practical  jokes 
and  in  duels,  declared  loudly  and  repeatedly  that  he 
should  not  add  a  penny  to  her  slender  portion. 

No,  that  which  enticed  the  scion  of  Sauvagnat. 


16  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

who  was  far  more  ambitious  than  greedy,  was  the 
Academic  The  two  great  courtyards  which  he  had 
to  cross  to  bring  his  daily  offering  of  flowers,  and  the 
long  solemn  corridors  into  which  at  intervals  there 
descended  a  dusty  staircase,  were  for  him  rather  the 
path  of  glory  than  of  love.  The  Paulin  Rehu  of  the 
Inscriptions  et  Belles- Lettres,  the  Jean  Rehu  of  the 
'  Letters  to  Urania,'  the  Institute  complete  with  its 
lions  and  its  cupola — this  was  the  Mecca  of  his  pil- 
grimage, and  all  this  it  was  that  he  took  to  wife  on 
his  wedding  day. 

For  this  not  transient  beauty  he  felt  a  passion 
proof  against  the  tooth  of  time,  a  passion  which  took 
such  hold  of  him  that  his  permanent  attitude  towards 
his  wife  was  that  of  those  mortal  husbands  on  whom, 
in  the  mythological  age,  the  gods  occasionally  be- 
stowed their  daughters.  Nor  did  he  quit  this  respect 
when  at  the  fourth  ballot  he  had  himself  become  a 
deity.  As  for  Madame  Astier,  who  had  only  accepted 
marriage  as  a  means  of  escape  from  a  hard  and  selfish 
grandfather  in  his  anecdotage,  it  had  not  taken  her 
long  to  find  out  how  poor  was  the  laborious  peasant 
brain,  how  narrow  the  intelligence,  concealed  by  the 
solemn  manners  of  the  Academic  laureate  and  manu- 
facturer of  octavos,  and  by  his  voice  with  its  ophi- 
cleide  notes  adapted  to  the  sublimities  of  the  lecture 
room.     And  yet  when,  by  force  of  intrigue,  bargain- 


ONE   OF   THE   '  FORTY  '  1 7 

ing,  and  begging,  she  had  seated  him  at  last  in  the 
Academie,  she  felt  herself  possessed  by  a  certain 
veneration,  forgetting  that  it  was  herself  who  had 
clothed  him  in  that  coat  with  the  green  palm  leaves, 
in  which  his  nothingness  ceased  to  be  visible. 

In  the  dull  concord  of  their  partnership,  where 
was  neither  joy,  nor  intimacy,  nor  communion  of  any 
kind,  there  was  but  one  single  note  of  natural  human 
feeling,  their  child  ;  and  this  note  disturbed  the  har- 
mony. In  the  first  place  the  father  was  entirely 
disappointed  of  all  that  he  wished  for  his  son,  that  he 
should  be  distinguished  by  the  University,  entered  for 
the  general  examinations,  and  finally  pass  through 
the  Ecole  Normale  to  a  professorship.  Alas !  at 
school  Paul  took  prizes  for  nothing  but  gymnastics 
and  fencing,  and  distinguished  himself  chiefly  by  a 
wilful  and  obstinate  perversity,  which  covered  a  prac- 
tical turn  of  mind  and  a  precocious  understanding  of 
the  world.  Careful  of  his  dress  and  his  appearance, 
he  never  went  for  a  walk  without  the  hope,  of  which 
he  made  no  secret  to  his  schoolfellows,  of '  picking  up 
a  rich  wife.'  Two  or  three  times  the  father  had  been 
ready  to  punish  this  determined  idleness  after  the 
rough  method  of  Auvergne,  but  the  mother  was  by 
to  excuse  and  to  protect.  In  vain  Astier-Rehu 
scolded  and  snapped  his  jaw,  a  prominent  feature 
which,  in    the  days  when    he  was   a  professor,  had 

c 


1 8  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY' 

gained  him  the  nickname  of  Crocodilus.  In  the  last 
resort,  he  would  threaten  to  pack  his  trunk  and  go 
back  to  his  vineyard  at  Sauvagnat. 

'  Ah,  Leonard,  Leonard  ! '  Madame  Astier  would 
say  with  gentle  mockery  ;  and  nothing  further  came 
of  it.  Once,  however,  he  really  came  near  to  strapping 
his  trunk  in  good  earnest,  when,  after  a  three  years' 
course  of  architecture  at  the  Ecole  des  Beaux-Arts, 
Paul  refused  to  compete  for  the  Prix  de  Rome.  The 
father  could  scarcely  speak  for  indignation.  '  Wretched 
boy  !  It  is  the  Prix  de  Rome  !  You  cannot  know  ;  you 
do  not  understand.  The  Prix  de  Rome  !  Get  that,  and 
it  means  the  Institute  ! '  Little  the  young  man  cared. 
What  he  wanted  was  wealth,  and  wealth  the  Institute 
does  not  bestow,  as  might  be  seen  in  his  father,  his 
grandfather,  and  old  Rehu,  his  great-grandfather ! 
To  start  in  life,  to  get  a  business,  a  large  business,  an 
immediate  income — this  was  what  he  wanted  for  his 
part,  and  not  to  wear  a  green  coat  with  palms  on  it. 

Leonard  Astier  was  speechless.  To  hear  such 
blasphemies  uttered  by  his  son  and  approved  by  his 
wife,  a  daughter  of  the  house  of  Rehu !  This  time 
his  trunk  was  really  brought  down  from  the  box 
room  ;  his  old  trunk,  such  as  professors  use  in  the 
provinces,  with  as  much  ironwork  in  the  way  of  nails 
and  hinges  as  might  have  sufficed  for  a  church  door, 
and  high  enough  and  deep  enough  to  have  held  the 


ONE  OF   THE   '  FORTY  '  19 

enormous  manuscript  of  '  Marcus  Aurelius  '  together 
with  all  the  dreams  of  glory  and  all  the  ambitious  hopes 
of  an  historian  on  the  high  road  to  the  Academic. 
It  was  in  vain  for  Madame  Astier  to  pinch  her  lips 
and  say, '  Oh,  Leonard,  Leonard ! '  Nothing  would  stop 
him  till  his  trunk  was  packed.  Two  days  it  stood  in 
the  way  in  the  middle  of  his  study.  Then  it  travelled 
to  the  ante-room  ;  and  there  reposed,  turned  once  and 
for  ever  into  a  wood-box. 

And  at  first,  it  must  be  said,  Paul  Astier  did 
splendidly.  Helped  by  his  mother  and  her  connec- 
tion in  good  society,  and  further  assisted  by  his  own 
cleverness  and  personal  charm,  he  soon  got  work 
which  brought  him  into  notice.  The  Duchess  Pa- 
dovani,  wife  of  a  former  ambassador  and  minister, 
trusted  him  with  the  restoration  of  her  much  admired 
country  house  at  Mousseaux-on-the-Loire,  an  ancient 
royal  residence,  long  neglected,  which  he  succeeded 
in  restoring  with  a  skill  and  ingenuity  really  amazing 
in  an  undistinguished  scholar  of  the  Beaux-Arts. 
Mousseaux  got  him  the  order  for  the  new  mansion 
of  the  Ambassador  of  the  Porte ;  and  finally  the 
Princess  of  Rosen  commissioned  him  to  design  the 
mausoleum  of  Prince  Herbert  of  Rosen,  who  had 
come  to  a  tragic  end  in  the  expedition  of  Christian 
of  Illyria.  The  young  man  now  thought  himself  sure 
of  success.     Astier  the  elder  was  induced  by  his  wife 

C2 


20  ONE  OF   THE   '  FORTY  * 

to  put  down  three  thousand  pounds  out  of  his  savings 
for  the  purchase  of  a  site  in  the  Rue  Fortuny.  Then 
Paul  built  himself  a  mansion — or  rather,  a  wing  to  a 
mansion,  which  was  itself  arranged  as  a  block  of 
elegant  '  rooms  to  let.'  He  was  a  practical  young 
fellow,  and  if  he  wanted  a  mansion,  without  which  no 
artist  is  chic,  he  meant  it  to  bring  him  an  income. 

Unfortunately  houses  to  let  are  not  always  so  easy 
to  let,  and  the  young  architect's  way  of  life,  with  two 
horses  in  his  stable  (one  for  harness,  one  for  the 
saddle),  his  club,  his  visiting,  his  slow  reimbursements, 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  wait.  Moreover,  the 
elder  Astier  suddenly  declared  that  he  was  not  going 
to  give  any  more  ;  and  all  that  the  mother  could 
attempt  or  say  for  her  darling  son  failed  to  shake  this 
irrevocable  decision.  Her  will,  which  had  hitherto 
swayed  the  establishment,  was  now  resisted.  Thence- 
forward there  was  a  continual  struggle.  The  mother 
used  her  ingenuity  to  make  little  dishonest  profits  on 
the  household  expenses,  that  she  might  never  have  to 
say  '  no '  to  her  son's  requests.  Leonard  suspected 
her  and,  to  protect  himself,  checked  the  accounts. 
In  these  humiliating  conflicts  the  wife,  who  was  the 
better  bred,  was  the  first  to  tire  ;  and  nothing  less 
than  the  desperate  situation  of  her  beloved  Paul  would 
have  induced  her  to  make  a  fresh  attempt. 

She  went  slowly  into  the  dining  room.     It  was  a 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  21 

long,  melancholy  room,  ill  lighted  by  tall,  narrow 
windows,  having  in  fact  been  used  as  a  table  d'hote  for 
ecclesiastics  until  the  Astiers  took  it.  There  she 
found  her  husband  already  at  table,  looking  preoccu- 
pied and  almost  grumpy.  In  the  ordinary  way  '  the 
Master '  came  to  his  meals  with  a  smiling  serenity  as 
regular  as  his  appetite,  and  with  teeth  which,  sound 
as  a  foxhound's,  were  not  to  be  discouraged  by  stale 
bread  or  leathery  meat,  or  by  the  miscellaneous  dis- 
agreeables which  are  the  everyday  flavouring  of  life. 

'  Ah,  it's  Teyssedre's  day,'  thought  Madame  Astier, 
as  she  took  her  seat,  her  best  dress  rustling  as  she  did 
so.  She  was  a  little  surprised  at  not  receiving  the 
compliment  with  which  her  husband  never  failed  to 
welcome  her  '  Wednesday '  costume,  shabby  as  it  was. 
Reckoning  that  this  bad  temper  would  go  off  with  the 
first  mouthfuls,  she  waited  before  beginning  her  at- 
tack. But,  though  the  Master  went  on  eating,  his  ill 
humour  visibly  increased.  Everything  was  wrong ; 
the  wine  tasted  of  the  cork  ;  the  balls  of  boiled  beef 
were  burnt. 

'  And  all  because  your  M.  Fage  kept  you  waiting 
this  morning,'  cried  Corentine  angrily  from  the  ad- 
joining kitchen.  She  showed  her  shiny  pitted  face 
for  a  moment  at  the  hatch  in  the  wall  through  which, 
in  the  days  of  the  table  d'hote,  they  used  to  pass  the 
dishes.     She  shut  it  with  a  bang  ;  upon  which  Astier 


22  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

muttered,   '  Really   that   girl's   impudence '     He 

was  in  truth  much  annoyed  that  the  name  of  Fage 
had  been  mentioned  before  his  wife.  And  sure 
enough  at  any  other  moment  Madame  Astier  would 
not  have  failed  to  say,  '  Oh,  Fage  the  bookbinder  here 
again  ! '  and  there  would  have  followed  a  domestic 
scene ;  on  all  which  Corentine  reckoned  when  she 
threw  in  her  artful  speech.  To-day,  however,  it  was 
all-important  that  the  master  should  not  be  irritated, 
but  prepared  by  skilful  stages  for  the  intended  peti- 
tion. He  was  talked  to,  for  instance,  about  the  health 
of  Loisillon,  the  perpetual  secretary  of  the  Academie, 
who,  it  seemed,  was  getting  worse  and  worse.  Loi- 
sillon's  post  and  his  rooms  in  the  Institute  were  to 
come  to  Leonard  Astier  as  a  compensation  for  the 
office  which  he  had  lost ;  and  though  he  was  really 
attached  to  his  dying  colleague,  still  the  prospect  of 
a  good  salary,  an  airy  and  comfortable  residence,  and 
other  advantages  had  its  attractions.  He  was  per- 
haps ashamed  to  think  of  the  death  in  this  light,  but 
in  the  privacy  of  his  household  he  did  so  without 
blinking.  But  to-day  even  that  did  not  bring  a  smile. 
'  Poor  M.  Loisillon  ! '  said  Madame  Asticr's  thin 
voice  ;  '  he  begins  to  be  uncertain  about  his  words. 
Lavaux  was  telling  us  yesterday  at  the  Duchess's,  he 
can  only  say  "a  cu-curiosity,  a  cu-curiosity,"  and,'  she 
added,  compressing  her  lips  and  drawing  up  her  long 
neck,  '  he  is  on  the  Dictionary  Committee.' 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY'  23 

Astier-Rehu  did  not  move  an  eyebrow. 

'  It  is  not  a  bad  story,'  said  he,  clapping  his  jaw 
with  a  magisterial  air.  '  But,  as  I  have  said  some- 
where in  my  history,  in  France  the  provisional  is  the 
only  thing  that  lasts.  Loisillon  has  been  dying  any 
time  this  ten  years.  He'll  see  every  one  of  us  buried 
yet — every  one  of  us,'  he  repeated  angrily,  pulling  at 
his  dry  bread.  It  was  clear  that  Teyssedre  had  put 
him  into  a  very  bad  temper  indeed. 

Madame  Asticr  went  to  another  subject,  the 
special  meeting  of  all  the  five  Academies,  which  was 
to  take  place  within  a  few  days,  and  to  be  honoured 
by  the  presence  of  the  Grand  Duke  Leopold  of 
Finland.  It  so  happened  that  Astier-Rehu,  being 
director  for  the  coming  quarter,  was  to  preside  at  the 
meeting  and  to  deliver  the  opening  speech,  in  which 
his  Highness  was  to  receive  a  compliment.  Skil- 
fully questioned  about  this  speech,  which  he  was 
already  planning,  Leonard  described  it  in  outline. 
It  was  to  be  a  crushing  attack  upon  the  modern 
school  of  literature — a  sound  thrashing  administered 
in  public  to  these  pretenders,  these  dunces.  And 
at  this  his  eyes,  big  with  his  heavy  meal,  lighted  up 
his  square  face,  and  the  blood  rose  under  his  thick 
bushy  eyebrows.  They  were  still  coal-black,  and 
contrasted  strangely  with  the  white  circle  of  his 
beard. 

'  By  the  way,'  said  he  suddenly,  '  what  about  my 


24  ONE   OF   THE  'FORTY' 

uniform  coat  ?  Has  it  been  seen  to  ?  The  last  time 
I  wore  it,  at  Montribot's  funeral ' 

But  do  not  women  think  of  everything  ?  Madame 
Astier  had  seen  to  the  coat  that  very  morning.  The 
silk  of  the  palm  leaves  was  getting  shabby  ;  the 
lining  was  all  to  pieces.  It  was  very  old.  Oh,  dear, 
when  did  he  wear  it  first  ?  Why,  it  was  as  long  ago 
— as  long  ago — as  when  he  was  admitted !  The 
twelfth  of  October,  eighteen-sixty-six !  He  had 
better  order  a  new  one  for  the  Meeting.  The  five 
Academies,  a  Royal  Highness,  and  all  Paris  !  Such 
an  audience  was  worth  a  new  coat.  Leonard  pro- 
tested, not  energetically,  on  the  ground  of  expense. 
With  a  new  coat  he  would  want  a  new  waistcoat ; 
knee-breeches  were  not  worn  now,  but  a  new  waist- 
coat would  be  indispensable. 

4  My  dear,  you  really  must ! '  She  continued  to 
press  him.  If  they  did  not  take  care  they  would 
make  themselves  ridiculous  with  their  economy. 
There  were  too  many  shabby  old  things  about  them. 
The  furniture  of  her  room,  for  instance  !  It  made 
her  feel  ashamed  when  a  friend  came  in,  and  for  a 
sum  comparatively  trifling. 

'  Ouais  !  quelque  sot,'  muttered  Astier-Rehu,  who 
liked  to  quote  his  classics.  The  furrow  in  his  forehead 
deepened,  and  under  it,  as  under  the  bar  of  a  shutter, 
his  countenance,  which  had  been  open  for  a  minute, 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  25 

shut  up.  Many  a  time  had  he  supplied  the  means 
to  pay  a  milliner's  bill,  or  a  dressmaker's,  or  to  re- 
paper  the  walls,  and  after  all  no  account  had  been 
settled  and  no  purchase  made.  All  the  money  had 
gone  to  that  Charybdis  in  the  Rue  Fortuny.  He 
had  had  enough  of  it,  and  was  not  going  to  be  caught 
again.  He  rounded  his  back,  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the 
huge  slice  of  Auvergne  cheese  which  filled  his  plate, 
and  said  no  more. 

Madame  Astier  was  familiar  with  this  dogged 
silence.  This  attitude  of  passive  resistance,  dead  as 
a  ball  of  cotton,  was  always  put  on  when  money  was 
mentioned.  But  this  time  she  was  resolved  to  make 
him  answer.  '  Ah,'  she  said,  '  I  see  you  rolling  up, 
Master  Hedgehog.  I  know  the  meaning  of  that. 
"  Nothing  to  be  got !  nothing  to  be  got !  No,  no, 
no  !  "  Eh  ?  '  The  back  grew  rounder  and  rounder. 
'  But  you  can  find  money  for  M.  Fage.'  Astier 
started,  sat  up,  and  looked  uneasily  at  his  wife. 
Money  for  M.  Fage?  What  did  she  mean  ?  '  Why, 
of  course,'  she  went  on,  delighted  to  have  forced  the 
barrier  of  his  silence,  '  of  course  it  takes  money  to  do 
all  that  binding.  And  what's  the  good  of  it,  I  should 
like  to  know,  for  all  those  old  scraps  ? ' 

He  felt  relieved  ;  evidently  she  knew  nothing ; 
it  was  only  a  chance  shot. 

But  the  term  '  old  scraps '   went   to   his   heart : 


26  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY' 

unique  autograph  documents,  signed  letters  of  Riche- 
lieu, Colbert,  Newton,  Galileo,  Pascal,  marvels  bought 
for  an  old  song,  and  worth  a  fortune.  'Yes, 
madam,  a  fortune.'  He  grew  excited,  and  began  to 
quote  figures,  the  offers  that  had  been  made  him. 
Bos,  the  famous  Bos  of  the  Rue  de  l'Abbaye  (and  he 
knew  his  business  if  any  one  did),  Bos  had  offered 
him  eight  hundred  pounds  merely  for  three  sped-, 
mens  from  his  collection — three  letters  from  Charles 
the  Fifth  to  Francois  Rabelais.     Old  scraps  indeed ! 

Madame  Astier  listened  in  utter  amazement. 
She  was  well  aware  that  for  the  last  two  or  three 
years  he  had  been  collecting  old  manuscripts.  He 
used  sometimes  to  speak  to  her  of  his  finds,  and 
she  listened  in  a  wandering  absent-minded  way,  as 
a  woman  does  listen  to  a  man's  voice  when  she  has 
heard  it  for  thirty  years.  But  this  was  beyond  her 
conception.  Eight  hundred  pounds  for  three  letters ! 
And  why  did  he  not  take  it  ? ' 

He  burst  out  like  an  explosion  of  dynamite. 

'  Sell  my  Charles  the  Fifths  !  Never  !  I  would 
see  you  all  without  bread  and  begging  from  door  to 
door  before  I  would  touch  them — understand  that ! ' 
He  struck  the  table.  His  face  was  very  pale,  and 
his  lips  thrust  out.  This  fierce  maniac  was  an  Astier- 
R^hu  whom  his  wife  did  not  know.  In  the  sudden 
glow  of  a  passion  human  beings  do  thus  take  aspects 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  2"] 

unknown  to  those  who  know  them  best.     The  next 

■ 

minute  the  Academician  was  quite  calm  again,  and 
was  explaining,  not  without  embarrassment,  that 
these  documents  were  indispensable  to  him  as  an 
author,  especially  now  that  he  could  not  command 
the  Records  of  the  Foreign  Office.  To  sell  these 
materials  would  be  to  give  up  writing.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  hoped  to  make  additions  to  them.  Then, 
with  a  touch  of  bitterness  and  affection,  which  be- 
trayed the  whole  depth  of  the  father's  disappoint- 
ment, he  said,  '  After  my  time,  my  fine  gentleman  of 
a  son  may  sell  them  if  he  chooses  ;  and  since  all  he 
wants  is  to  be  rich,  I  will  answer  for  it  that  he 
will  be.' 

'  Yes  ;  but  meanwhile ' 

This  '  meanwhile '  was  said  in  a  little  flute-like 
voice  so  cruelly  natural  and  quiet  that  Leonard, 
unable  to  control  his  jealousy  of  this  son  who  left 
him  no  place  in  his  wife's  heart,  retorted  with  a 
solemn  snap  of  the  jaw,  '  Meanwhile,  madam,  others 
can  do  as  I  do.  I  have  no  mansion,  I  keep  no 
horses  and  no  English  cart.  The  tramway  does  for 
my  going  and  coming,  and  I  am  content  to  live  on  a 
third  floor  over  an  entresol,  where  I  am  exposed  to 
Teyssedre.  I  work  night  and  day,  I  pile  up  volume 
after  volume,  two  and  three  octavos  in  a  year.  I  am 
on  two  committees  of  the  Academie  ;  I  never  miss  a 


28  ONE   OF  THE   'FORTY' 

meeting ;  I  never  miss  a  funeral  ;  and  even  in  the 
summer  I  never  accept  an  invitation  to  the  country, 
lest  I  should  miss  a  single  tally.  I  hope  my  son, 
when  he  is  sixty-five,  may  be  as  indefatigable.' 

It  was  long  since  he  had  spoken  of  Paul,  and 
never  had  he  spoken  so  severely.  The  mother  was 
struck  by  his  tone,  and  in  her  look,  as  she  glanced 
sidelong,  almost  wickedly,  at  her  husband,  there  was 
a  shade  of  respect,  which  had  not  been  there  be- 
fore. 

'  There  is  a  ring,'  said  Leonard  eagerly,  rising  as 
he  spoke,  and  flinging  his  table  napkin  upon  the  back 
of  his  chair.     '  That  must  be  my  man.' 

'  It's  some  one  for  you,  ma'am  ;  they  are  begin- 
ning early  to-day,'  said  Corentine,  as,  with  her  kitchen- 
maid's  fingers  wiped  hastily  on  her  apron,  she  laid 
a  card  on  the  edge  of  the  table.  Madame  Astier 
looked  at  it.  '  The  Vicomte  de  Freydet.'  A  gleam 
came  into  her  eyes.  But  her  delight  was  not  percep- 
tible in  the  calm  tone  in  which  she  said, '  So  M.  de 
Freydet  is  in  Paris  ? ' 

'  Yes,  about  his  book.' 

'  Bless  me !  His  book  !  I  have  not  even  cut  it. 
What  is  it  about  ? ' 

She  hurried  over  the  last  mouthfuls,  and  washed 
the  tips  of  her  white  fingers  in  her  glass  while  her 
husband  in  an  absent-minded  way  gave   her  some 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY'  29 

idea  of  the  new  volume.     '  God  in  Nature/  a  philo- 
sophic poem,  entered  for  the  Boisscau  prize. 

'  Oh,  I  do  hope  he  will  get  it.  He  must,  he  must. 
They  are  so  nice,  he  and  his  sister,  and  he  is  so  good 
to  the  poor  paralysed  creature.  Do  you  think  he 
will  ? ' 

Astier  would  not  commit  himself.  He  could  not 
promise,  but  he  would  certainly  recommend  Freydet, 
who  seemed  to  him  to  be  really  improving.  '  If 
he  asks  you  for  my  personal  opinion,  it  is  this  :  there 
is  still  a  little  too  much  for  my  taste,  but  much  less 
than  in  his  other  books.  You  may  tell  him  that  his 
old  master  is  pleased.' 

Too  much  of  what  ?  Less  of  what  ?  It  must  be 
supposed  that  Madame  Astier  knew,  for  she  sought 
no  explanation,  but  left  the  table  and  passed,  quite 
happy,  into  her  drawing  room — as  the  study  must  be 
considered  for  the  day.  Astier,  more  and  more 
absorbed  in  thought,  lingered  for  some  minutes, 
breaking  up  with  his  knife  what  remained  in  his 
plate  of  the  Auvergne  cheese  ;  then,  being  disturbed 
in  his  meditations  by  Corentine,  who,  without  heed- 
ing him,  was  rapidly  clearing  the  table,  he  rose  stiffly 
and  went  up,  by  a  little  staircase  like  a  cat-ladder, 
to  his  attic,  where  he  took  up  his  magnifying  glass 
and  resumed  the  examination  of  the  old  manuscript 
upon  which  he  had  been  busy  since  the  morning. 


30  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 


CHAPTER  II. 

SITTING  straight,  with  the  reins  well  held  up  in  the 
most  correct  fashion,  Paul  Astier  drove  his  two- 
wheeled  cart  at  a  stiff  pace  to  the  scene  of  his  mys- 
terious breakfast  '  with  some  business  people.'  '  Tclk ! 
tclk  ! '  Past  the  Pont  Royal,  past  the  quays,  past  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde.  The  road  was  so  smooth,  the 
day  so  fine,  that  as  terraces,  trees,  and  fountains  went 
by,  it  would  have  needed  but  a  little  imagination 
on  his  part  to  believe  himself  carried  away  on  the 
wings  of  Fortune.  But  the  young  man  was  no 
visionary,  and  as  he  bowled  along  he  examined  the 
new  leather  and  straps,  and  put  questions  about  the 
hay-merchant  to  his  groom,  a  young  fellow  perched 
at  his  side  looking  as  cool  and  as  sharp  as  a  stable 
terrier.  The  hay-merchant,  it  seemed,  was  as  bad  as 
the  rest  of  them,  and  grumbled  about  supplying  the 
fodder. 

'  Oh,  does  he  ?  '  said  Paul  absently  ;  his  mind  had 
already  passed  to  another  subject.  His  mother's 
revelations  ran  in  his  head.  Fifty-three  years  old  ! 
The   beautiful    Duchess    Antonia,   whose   neck   and 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  3 1 

shoulders  were  the  despair  of  Paris  !  Utterly  incre- 
dible !  'Tclk  !  tclk  ! '  He  pictured  her  at  Mousseaux 
last  summer,  rising  earlier  than  any  of  her  guests, 
wandering  with  her  dogs  in  the  park  while  the  dew 
was  still  on  the  ground,  with  loosened  hair  and 
blooming  lips  ;  she  did  not  look  made  up,  not  a  bit. 
Fifty-three  years  old  ?     Impossible  ! 

«  Tclk,  tclk  !  Hi !  Hi ! '  That's  a  nasty  corner 
between  the  Rond  Pont  and  the  Avenue  d'Antin. — 
All  the  same,  it  was  a  low  trick  they  were  playing 
her,  to  find  a  wife  for  the  Prince.  For  let  his  mother 
say  what  she  would,  the  Duchess  and  her  drawing- 
room  had  been  a  fine  thing  for  them  all.  Perhaps  his 
father  might  never  have  been  in  the  Academie  but 
for  her  ;  he  himself  owed  her  all  his  commissions. 
Then  there  was  the  succession  to  Loisillon's  place 
and  the  prospect  of  the  fine  rooms  under  the  cupola 
— well,  there  was  nothing  like  a  woman  for  flinging 
you  over.  Not  that  men  were  any  better  ;  the  Prince 
d'Athis,  for  instance.  To  think  what  the  Duchess 
had  done  for  him  !  When  they  met  he  was  a  ruined 
and  penniless  rip  ;  now  what  was  he  ?  High  in  the 
diplomatic  service,  member  of  the  Academie  des 
Sciences  Morales  et  Politiques,  on  account  of  a  book 
not  a  word  of  which  he  had  written  himself,  'The 
Mission  of  Woman  in  the  World'  And  while  the 
Duchess  was  busily  at  work  to  fit  him  with  an  Em- 


32  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

bassy,  he  was  only  waiting  to  be  gazetted  before 
taking  French  leave  and  playing  off  this  dirty  trick 
on  her,  after  fifteen  years  of  uninterrupted  happiness. 
'The  mission  of  woman  in  the  world!'  Well,  the 
Prince  understood  what  the  mission  of  woman  was. 
The  next  thing  was  to  better  the  lesson.  '  Tclk  !  tclk ! 
Gate,  please.' 

Paul's  soliloquy  was  over,  and  his  cart  drew  up 
before  a  mansion  in  the  Rue  de  Courcelles.  The 
double  gates  were  rolled  back  slowly  and  heavily  as 
if  accomplishing  a  task  to  which  they  had  long  been 
unused. 

In  this  house  lived  the  Princess  Colette  de  Rosen, 
who  had  shut  herself  up  in  the  complete  seclusion  of 
mourning  since  the  sad  occurrence  which  had  made 
her  a  widow  at  twenty-six.  The  daily  papers  recorded 
the  details  of  the  young  widow's  sensational  despair  : 
how  the  fair  hair  was  cut  off  close  and  thrown  into 
the  coffin  ;  how  her  room  was  decorated  as  for  a  lying 
in  state  ;  how  she  took  her  meals  alone  with  two  places 
laid,  while  on  the  table  in  the  anteroom  lay  as  usual 
the  Prince's  walking  stick,  hat,  and  gloves,  as  though 
he  were  at  home  and  just  going  out.  But  one  detail 
had  not  been  mentioned,  and  that  was  the  devoted 
affection  and  truly  maternal  care  which  Madame 
Asticr  showed  for  the  '  poor  little  woman '  in  these 
distressing  circumstances. 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  33 

Their  friendship  had  begun  some  years  ago,  when 
a  prize  for  an  historical  work  had  been  adjudged  to 
the  Prince  de  Rosen  by  the  Academic,  '  on  the  report 
of  Astier-Rehu.'  Differences  of  age  and  social  posi- 
tion had  however  kept  them  apart  until  the  Princess's 
mourning  removed  the  barrier.  When  the  widow's 
door  was  solemnly  closed  against  society,  Madame 
Astier  alone  escaped  the  interdict.  Madame  Astier 
was  the  only  person  allowed  to  cross  the  threshold  of 
the  mansion,  or  rather  the  convent,  inhabited  by  the 
poor  weeping  Carmelite  with  her  shaven  head  and 
robe  of  black  ;  Madame  Astier  was  the  only  person 
admitted  to  hear  the  mass  sung  twice  a  week  at  St. 
Philip's  for  the  repose  of  Herbert's  soul  ;  and  it  was 
she  who  heard  the  letters  which  Colette  wrote  every 
evening  to  her  absent  husband,  relating  her  life  anc 
the  way  she  spent  her  days.  All  mourning,  however 
rigid,  involves  attention  to  material  details  which  are 
degrading  to  grief  but  demanded  by  society.  Liveries 
must  be  ordered,  trappings  provided  for  horses  and 
carriages,  and  the  heartbroken  mourner  must  face  the 
hypocritical  sympathy  of  the  tradesman.  All  these 
duties  were  discharged  by  Madame  Astier  with  never- 
failing  patience.  She  undertook  the  heavy  task  of 
managing  the  household,  which  the  tear-laden  eyes  of 
its  fair  mistress  could  no  longer  supervise,  and  so 
spared  the  young  widow  all  that  could  disturb  her 

D 


34  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY' 

despair,  or  disarrange  her  hours  for  praying,  weeping, 
writing '  to  him,'  and  carrying  armfuls  of  exotic  flowers 
to  the  cemetery  of  Pere  Lachaise,  where  Paul  Astier 
was  superintending  the  erection  of  a  gigantic  mauso- 
leum in  commemorative  stone  brought  at  the  express 
wish  of  the  Princess  from  the  scene  of  the  tragedy. 

Unfortunately  the  quarrying  of  this  stone  and  its 
conveyance  from  Illyria,  the  difficulties  of  carving 
granite,  and  the  endless  plans  and  varying  fancies  of 
the  widow,  to  whom  nothing  seemed  sufficiently  huge 
and  magnificent  to  suit  her  dead  hero,  had  brought 
about  many  hitches  and  delays.  So  it  happened  that 
in  May  1880,  two  years  and  more  after  the  catastrophe 
and  the  commencement  of  the  work,  the  monument 
was  still  unfinished.  Two  years  is  a  long  time  to 
maintain  the  constant  paroxysms  of  an  ostentatious 
grief,  each  sufficient  to  discharge  the  whole.  The 
mourning  was  still  observed  as  rigidly  as  ever,  the 
house  was  still  closed  and  silent  as  a  cave.  But  in 
the  place  of  the  living  statue  weeping  and  praying  in 
the  furthest  recesses  of  the  crypt,  was  now  a  pretty 
young  woman  whose  hair  was  growing  again,  instinct 
with  life  in  every  curl  and  wave  of  its  soft  luxuriance. 
The  reappearance  of  this  fair  hair  gave  a  touch  of 
lightness,  almost  of  brightness,  to  the  widow's  mourn- 
ing, which  seemed  now  no  more  than  a  caprice  of 
fashion.    In  the  movements  and  tones  of  the  Princess 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY  35 

was  perceptible  the  stirring  of  spring  ;  she  had  the 
air  of  relief  and  repose  noticeable  in  young  widows 
in  the  second  period  of  their  mourning.  It  is  a 
delightful  position.  For  the  first  time  after  the 
restraints  of  girlhood  and  the  restraints  of  marriage, 
a  woman  enjoys  the  sweets  of  liberty  and  undisputed 
possession  of  herself;  she  is  freed  from  contact  with 
the  coarser  nature  of  man,  and  above  all  from  the 
fear  of  maternity,  the  haunting  terror  of  the  young 
wife  of  the  present  day.  In  the  case  of  the  Princess 
Colette  the  natural  development  of  uncontrollable 
grief  into  perfect  peacefulness  was  emphasised  by 
the  paraphernalia  of  inconsolable  widowhood  with 
which  she  was  still  surrounded.  It  was  not  hypocrisy; 
but  how  could  she  give  orders,  without  raising  a 
smile  on  the  servants'  faces,  to  remove  the  hat  always 
waiting  in  the  ante-room,  the  walking  stick  con- 
spicuously handy,  the  place  at  table  always  laid  for 
the  absent  husband  ;  how  could  she  say,  '  The  Prince 
will  not  dine  to-night '  ?  But  the  mystic  correspond- 
ence '  with  Herbert  in  heaven  '  had  begun  to  fall  off, 
growing  less  frequent  every  day,  till  it  ended  in  a 
calmly  written  journal  which  caused  considerable, 
though  unexpressed,  amusement  to  Colette's  discern- 
ing friend. 

The  fact  was  that  Madame  Astier  had  a  plan. 
The  idea  had  sprung  up  in  her  practical  little  mind 

©2 


36  ONE  OF  THE  *  FORTY' 

one  Tuesday  night  at  the  Theatre  Frangais,  when  the 
Prince  d'Athis  had  said  to  her  confidentially  in  a  low 
voice  :  '  Oh,  my  dear  Adelaide,  what  a  chain  to  drag ! 
I  am  bored  to  death.'  She  at  once  planned  to  marry 
him  to  the  Princess.  It  was  a  new  game  to  play, 
crossing  the  old  game,  but  not  less  subtle  and  fasci- 
nating. She  had  not  now  to  hold  forth  upon  the 
eternal  nature  of  vows,  or  to  hunt  up  in  Joubert  or 
other  worthy  philosophers  such  mottoes  as  the  follow- 
ing, which  the  Princess  had  written  out  at  the  begin- 
ning of  her  wedding  book  :  '  A  woman  can  be  wife 
and  widow  with  honour  but  once.'  She  no  longer 
went  into  raptures  over  the  manly  beauty  of  the 
young  hero,  whose  portrait,  full  length  and  half  length, 
profile  and  three-quarters,  in  marble  and  on  canvas, 
met  you  in  every  part  of  the  house. 

It  was  her  system  now  to  bring  him  gradually 
and  dexterously  down.  '  Do  you  not  think,  dear,'  she 
would  say,  '  that  these  portraits  of  the  Prince  make 
his  jaw  too  heavy?  Of  course  I  know  the  lower 
part  of  his  face  was  rather  pronounced,  a  little  too 
massive.'  And  so  she  administered  a  series  of  little 
poisonous  stabs,  with  an  indescribable  skill  and 
gentleness,  drawing  back  when  she  went  too  far,  and 
watching  for  Colette's  smile  at  some  criticism  a  little 
sharper  than  the  rest.  Working  in  this  way  she  at 
last   brought   Colette   to   admit    that    Herbert   had 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  37 

always  had  a  touch  of  the  boor ;  his  manners  were 
scarcely  up  to  his  rank  ;  he  had  not,  for  instance,  the 
distinguished  air  of  the  Prince  d'Athis,  'whom  we 
met  a  few  Sundays  ago  on  the  steps  of  St.  Philip's. 
If  you  should  fancy  him,  dear,  he  is  looking  for  a 
wife.'  This  last  remark  was  thrown  out  as  a  jest ; 
but  presently  Madame  Astier  recurred  to  it  and  put 
it  more  definitely.  Well,  why  should  the  Princess 
not  marry  him  ?  It  would  be  most  suitable ;  the 
Prince  had  a  good  name,  a  diplomatic  position  of 
some  importance ;  the  marriage  would  involve  no 
alteration  of  the  Princess's  coronet  or  title — a  practical 
convenience  not  to  be  overlooked.  '  And,  indeed,  if 
I  am  to  tell  you  the  truth,  dear,  the  Prince  entertains 
towards  you  an  affection  which '  .  .  .  &c.  &c. 

The  word  '  affection  '  at  first  hurt  the  Princess's 
feelings,  but  she  soon  grew  used  to  hear  it.  They 
met  the  Prince  d'Athis  at  church,  then  in  great 
privacy  at  Madame  Astier's  in  the  Rue  de  Beaune, 
and  Colette  soon  admitted  that  he  was  the  only  man 
who  might  have  induced  her  to  abandon  her  widow- 
hood. But  then  poor  dear  Herbert  had  loved  her  so 
devotedly — she  had  been  his  all. 

'  Really,'  said  Madame  Astier  with  the  quiet  smile 
of  a  person  who  knows.  Then  followed  allusions, 
hints,  and  all  the  devices  by  which  one  woman 
poisons  the  mind  of  another. 


38  ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY' 

'  Why,  my  dear,  there  is  no  such  thing  in  the 
world.  A  man  of  good  breeding — a  gentleman— will 
take  care,  for  the  sake  of  peace,  not  to  give  his  wife 
pain  or  distress.     But ' 

'  Then  you  mean  that  Herbert ' 


'  Was  no  better  than  the  rest  of  them.' 
The  Princess,  with  an  indignant  protest,  burst 
into  tears  ;  painless,  passionless  tears,  such  as  ease  a 
woman,  and  leave  her  as  fresh  as  a  lawn  after  a 
shower.  But  still  she  did  not  give  way,  to  the  great 
annoyance  of  Madame  Astier,  who  had  no  conception 
of  the  real  cause  of  her  ^obduracy. 

The  truth  was  that  frequent  meetings  to  criticise 
the  scheme  of  the  mausoleum,  much  touching  of 
hands  and  mingling  of  locks  over  the  plans  and 
sketches  of  cells  and  sepulchral  figures,  had  created 
between  Paul  and  Colette  a  fellow  feeling  which  had 
gradually  grown  more  and  more  tender,  until  one 
day  Paul  Astier  detected  in  Colette's  eyes  as  she 
looked  at  him  an  expression  that  almost  confessed 
her  liking.  There  rose  before  him  as  a  possibility 
the  miraculous  vision  of  Colette  de  Rosen  bringing 
him  her  million  as  a  marriage  gift.  That  might  be 
in  a  short  time,  after  a  preliminary  trial  of  patience, 
a  regularly  Conducted  beleaguering  of  the  fortress. 
In  the  first  place  it  was  most  important  to  betray  no 
hint  to  '  mamma,'   who,    though    very   cunning   and 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  39 

subtle,  was  likely  to  fail  through  excess  of  zeal, 
especially  when  the  interests  of  her  Paul  were  at 
stake.  She  would  spoil  all  the  chances  in  her  eager- 
ness to  hasten  the  successful  issue.  So  Paul  concealed 
his  plans  from  Madame  Astier,  in  entire  ignorance 
that  she  was  running  a  countermine  in  the  same  line 
as  his.  He  acted  on  his  own  account  with  great 
deliberation.  The  Princess  was  attracted  by  his  youth 
and  fashion,  his  brightness  and  his  witty  irony,  from 
which  he  carefully  took  the  venom.  He  knew  that 
women,  like  children  and  the  mob,  and  all  impulsive 
and  untutored  beings,  hate  a  tone  of  sarcasm,  which 
puts  them  out,  and  which  they  perceive  by  instinct 
to  be  hostile  to  the  dreams  of  enthusiasm  and 
romance. 

On  this  spring  morning  it  was  with  feelings  of 
more  confidence  than  usual  that  young  Astier  reached 
the  house.  This  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  been 
asked  to  breakfast  at  the  Rosen  mansion  ;  the  reason 
alleged  was  a  visit  which  they  were  to  make  together 
to  the  cemetery,  in  order  to  inspect  the  works  on  the 
spot.  With  an  unexpressed  understanding  they  had 
fixed  on  a  Wednesday,  the  day  when  Madame  Astier 
was  'at  home,'  so  as  not  to  have  her  as  a  third 
in  the  party.  With  this  thought  in  his  mind  the 
young  man,  self-controlled  as  he  was,  let  fall  as  he 
crossed  the  threshold  a  careless  glance  which  took  in 


40  ONE  OF   THE  '  FORTY  ' 

the  large  courtyard  and  magnificent  offices  almost  as 
if  he  were  entering  on  the  possession  of  them.  His 
spirits  fell  as  he  passed  through  the  ante-room,  where 
the  footmen  and  lacqueys  in  deep  mourning  were 
dozing  on  their  seats.  They  seemed  to  be  keeping  a 
funeral  vigil  round  the  hat  of  the  defunct,  a  magnifi- 
cent grey  hat,  which  proclaimed  the  arrival  of  spring 
as  well  as  the  determination  with  which  his  memory 
was  kept  up  by  the  Princess.  Paul  was  much  annoyed 
by  it ;  it  was  like  meeting  a  rival.  He  did  not 
realise  the  difficulty  which  prevented  Colette  from 
escaping  the  self-forged  fetters  of  her  custom.  He 
was  wondering  angrily  whether  she  would  expect 
him  to  breakfast  in  company  with  him,  when  the 
footman  who  relieved  him  of  his  walking  stick  and 
hat  informed  him  that  the  Princess  would  receive 
him  in  the  small  drawing-room.  He  was  shown  at 
once  into  the  rotunda  with  its  glass  roof,  a  bower  of 
exotic  plants,  and  was  completely  reassured  by  the 
sight  of  a  little  table  with  places  laid  for  two,  the 
arrangement  of  which  Madame  de  Rosen  was  herself 
superintending. 

'  A  fancy  of  mine,'  she  said,  pointing  to  the  table, 
'  when  I  saw  how  fine  it  was.  It  will  be  almost  like 
the  country.' 

She  had  spent  the  night  considering  how  she 
could  avoid  sitting  down  with  this  handsome  young 


ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY'  41 

man  in  the  presence  of  his  knife  and  fork,  and,  not 
knowing  what  to  say  to  the  servants,  had  devised  the 
plan  of  abandoning  the  situation  and  ordering  break- 
fast, as  a  sudden  whim,  '  in  the  conservatory.' 

Altogether  the  '  business '  breakfast  promised  well. 
The  Romany  blanc  lay  to  keep  cool  in  the  rocky 
basin  of  the  fountain,  amidst  ferns  and  water  plants, 
and  the  sun  shone  on  the  pieces  of  spar  and  on  the 
bright  smooth  green  of  the  outspread  leaves.  The 
two  young  people  sat  opposite  one  another,  their 
knees  almost  touching :  he  quite  self-possessed,  his 
light  eyes  cold  and  fiery  ;  she  all  pink  and  white,  her 
new  growth  of  hair,  like  a  delicate  wavy  plumage, 
showing  without  any  artificial  arrangement  the  shape 
of  her  little  head.  And  while  they  talked  on  indif- 
ferent topics,  both  concealing  their  real  thoughts, 
young  Astier  exulted  each  time  that  the  silent  ser- 
vants opened  the  door  of  the  deserted  dining-room, 
when  he  saw  in  the  distance  the  napkin  of  the 
departed,  left  for  the  first  tirrte  cheerless  and  alone. 


42  ONE  OF  THE  *  FORTY' 


CHAPTER   III. 

From  the  Vicomte  de  Freydet 

To  Mademoiselle  Germaine  de  Freydet, 

Clos  Jallanges, 
near  Mousseaux, 
Loir  et  Cher. 

My  dear  Sister, — I  am  going  to  give  you  a 
precise  account  of  the  way  I  spend  my  time  in  Paris. 
I  shall  write  every  evening,  and  send  you  the  budget 
twice  a  week,  as  long  as  I  stay  here. 

Well,  I  arrived  this  morning,  Monday,  and  took 
up  my  quarters  as  usual  in  my  quiet  little  hotel  in 
the  Rue  Servandoni,  where  the  only  sounds  of  the 
great  city  which  reach  me  are  the  bells  of  Saint 
Sulpice,  and  the  continual  noise  from  a  neighbouring 
forge,  a  sound  of  the  rhythmical  beating  of  iron, 
which  I  love  because  it  reminds  me  of  our  village.  I 
rushed  off  at  once  to  my  publisher.  '  Well,  when  do 
we  come  out  ? ' 

'  Your  book  ?  Why,  it  came  out  a  week 
ago.' 

Come  out,  indeed,  and  gone  in  too — gone  into  the 


ONE  OF  THE   '  FORTY '  43 

depths  of  that  grim  establishment  of  Marrivet's,  which 
never  ceases  to  pant  and  to  reek  with  the  labour  of 
giving  birth  to  a  new  volume.  This  Monday,  as  it 
happened,  they  were  just  sending  out  a  great  novel 
by  Herscher,  called  Satyra.  The  copies  struck  off — 
how  many  hundreds  of  thousands  of  them  I  don't 
know — were  lying  in  stacks  and  heaps  right  up  to 
the  very  top  of  the  establishment.  You  can  fancy 
the  preoccupation  of  the  staff,  and  the  lost  bewildered 
look  of  worthy  Manivet  himself,  when  I  mentioned 
my  poor  little  volume  of  verse,  and  talked  of  my 
chances  for  the  Boisseau  prize.  I  asked  for  a  few 
copies  to  leave  with  the  members  of  the  committee 
of  award,  and  made  my  escape  through  streets — 
literally  streets — of  Satyra,  piled  up  to  the  ceiling. 
When  I  got  into  my  cab,  I  looked  at  my  volume  and 
turned  over  the  pages.  I  was  quite  pleased  with  the 
solemn  effect  of  the  title,  '  God  in  Nature.'  The 
capitals  are  perhaps  a  trifle  thin,  when  you  come  to 
look  at  them,  not  quite  as  black  and  impressive  to 
the  eye  as  they  might  be.  But  it  does  not  matter. 
Your  pretty  name,  '  Germaine,'  in  the  dedication  will 
bring  us  luck.  I  left  a  couple  of  copies  at  the  Astiers' 
in  the  Rue  de  Beaune.  You  know  they  no  longer 
occupy  their  rooms  at  the  Foreign  Office.  But 
Madame  Astier  has  still  her  '  Wednesdays.'  So  of 
course  I  wait  till  Wednesday  to  hear  what  my  old 


44  ONE  OF  THE  *  FORTY' 

master  thinks  of  the  book  ;  and  off  I  went  to  the 
Institute. 

There  again  I  found  them  as  busy  as  a  steam 
factory.  Really  the  industry  of  this  big  city  is  mar- 
vellous, especially  to  people  like  us,  who  spend  all 
the  year  in  the  peace  of  the  open  country.  Found 
Picheral — you  remember  Picheral,  the  polite  gentle- 
man in  the  secretary's  office,  who  got  you  such  a 
good  place  three  years  ago,  when  I  received  my 
prize — well,  I  found  Picheral  and  his  clerks  in  the 
midst  of  a  wild  hubbub  of  voices,  shouting  out  names 
and  addresses  from  one  desk  to  another,  and  sur- 
rounded on  all  sides  by  tickets  of  every  kind,  blue, 
yellow,  and  green,  for  the  platform,  for  the  outer 
circle,  for  the  orchestra,  Entrance  A,  Entrance  B,  &c. 
They  were  in  the  middle  of  sending  out  the  invita- 
tions for  the  great  annual  meeting,  which  is  to  be 
honoured  this  year  by  the  presence  of  a  Royal  High- 
ness on  his  travels,  the  Grand  Duke  Leopold.  '  Very 
sorry,  my  lord ' — Picheral  always  says  '  my  lord,' 
having  learnt  it,  no  doubt,  from  Chateaubriand— 'but 
I  must  ask  you  to  wait.'  '  Certainly,  M.  Picheral, 
certainly.' 

Picheral  is  an  amusing  old  gentleman,  very  courtly. 
He  reminds  me  of  Bonicar  and  our  lessons  in  deport- 
ment in  the  covered  gallery  at  grandmamma's  house 
at  Jallanges.     He  is  as  touchy,  too,  when  crossed,  as 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  45 

the  old  dancing-master  used  to  be.  I  wish  you  had 
heard  him  talk  to  the  Comte  de  Bretigny,  the  ex- 
minister,  one  of  the  grandees  of  the  Academie,  who 
came  in,  while  I  was  waiting,  to  rectify  a  mistake 
about  the  number  of  his  tallies.  I  must  tell  you  that 
the  tally  attesting  attendance  is  worth  five  shillings, 
the  old  crown-piece.  There  are  forty  Academicians, 
which  makes  two  hundred  shillings  per  meeting,  to 
be  divided  among  those  present ;  so,  you  see,  the 
fewer  they  are,  the  more  money  each  gets.  Payment 
is  made  once  a  month  in  crown-pieces,  kept  in  stout 
paper  bags,  each  with  its  little  reckoning  pinned  on 
to  it,  like  a  washing  bill.  Bretigny  had  not  his  com- 
plete number  of  tallies  ;  and  it  was  the  most  amusing 
sight  to  see  this  man  of  enormous  wealth,  director  of 
Heaven  knows  how  many  companies,  come  there  in 
his  carriage  to  claim  his  ten  shillings.  He  only  got 
five,  which  sum,  after  a  long  dispute,  Picheral  tossed 
to  him  with  as  little  respect  as  to  a  porter.  But  the 
'  deity  '  pocketed  them  with  inexpressible  joy  ;  there 
is  nothing  like  money  won  by  the  sweat  of  your  brow. 
For,  my  dear  Germaine,  you  must  not  imagine  that 
there  is  any  idling  in  the  Academie.  Every  year 
there  are  fresh  bequests,  new  prizes  instituted  ;  that 
means  more  books  to  read,  more  reports  to  engross, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  dictionary  and  the  orations. 
'  Leave  your  book  at  their  houses,  but  do  not  go  in,' 


46  ONE   OF   THE  'FORTY' 

said  Pichcral,  when  he  heard  I  was  competing  for 
the  prize.  '  The  extra  work,  which  people  are  always 
putting  on  the  members,  makes  them  anything  but 
gracious  to  a  candidate.' 

I  certainly  have  not  forgotten  the  way  Ripault- 
Babin  and  Laniboire  received  me,  when  I  called  on 
them  about  my  last  candidature.  Of  course,  when 
the  candidate  is  a  pretty  woman,  it  is  another  story. 
Laniboire  becomes  jocose,  and  Ripault-Babin,  still 
gallant  in  spite  of  his  eighty  years,  offers  the  fair 
canvasser  a  lozenge,  and  says  in  his  quavering  voice, 
'  Touch  it  with  your  lips,  and  I  will  finish  it.'  So 
they  told  me  in  the  secretary's  office,  where  the  deities 
are  discussed  with  a  pleasing  frankness.  '  You  are  in 
for  the  Boisseau  prize.  Let  me  see  ;  you  have  for 
awarders  two  Dukes,  three  Mouldies,  and  two  Players.' 
Such,  in  the  office,  is  the  familiar  classification  of  the 
Academie  Franchise  !  '  Duke  '  is  the  name  applied 
to  all  members  of  the  nobility  and  episcopacy  ; 
Mouldies'  includes  the  professors  and  the  learned 
men  generally  ;  while  a  '  Player '  denotes  a  lawyer, 
dramatic  author,  journalist,  or  novelist. 

After  ascertaining  the  addresses  of  my  Dukes, 
Mouldies,  and  Players,  I  gave  one  of  my  '  author's 
copies'  to  the  friendly  M.  Picheral,  and,  for  form's 
sake,  left  another  for  poor  M.  Loisillon,  the  Permanent 
Secretary,  who  is  said  to  be  all  but  dead.     Then  I  set 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  47 

to  work  to  distribute  the  remaining  copies  all  over 
Paris.  The  weather  was  glorious.  As  I  passed 
through  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  on  my  way  back  from 
the  house  of  Ripault-Babin  (which  reminded  me  of 
the  lozenges),  the  place  was  sweet  with  may  and 
violets.  I  almost  fancied  myself  at  home  again  on 
one  of  those  first  days  of  early  spring  when  the  air  is 
fresh  and  the  sun  hot ;  and  I  was  inclined  to  give  up 
everything  and  come  back  to  you  at  Jallangcs. 
Dined  on  the  boulevard  alone  and  gloomy,  and  then 
spent  the  rest  of  my  evening  at  the  Comedie  Fran- 
chise, where  they  were  playing  Desminieres'  ' Le  Der- 
nier Fronting  Desminieres  is  one  of  the  awarders  of 
the  Boisseau  prize,  so  I  shall  tell  no  one  but  you  how 
his  verses  bored  me.  The  heat  and  gas  gave  me  a 
headache.  The  actors  played  as  if  Louis  XIV.  had 
been  listening  ;  and  while  they  spouted  alexandrines, 
suggestive  of  the  unrolling  of  a  mummy's  bands,  I 
was  still  haunted  by  the  scent  of  the  hawthorn  at 
Jallanges,  and  repeated  to  myself  the  pretty  lines  of 
Du  Bellay,  a  fellow-countryman,  or  a  neighbour  at 
least : 

More  than  your  marbles  hard  I  love  the  tender  slate, 
Than  Tiber  more  the  Loire,  and  France  than  Rome, 
Mine  own  dear  hills  than  Palatinus'  state, 

More  than  the  salt  sea  breeze  the  fragrant  air  of  home. 

Tuesday. — Walked  about  the  town  all  the  morn- 


48  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

ing,  stopping  in  front  of  the  booksellers'  shops  to 
look  for  my  book  in  the  windows.  Satyra,  Satyra, 
Satyra  !  Satyra  and  nothing  else  to  be  seen  every- 
where, with  a  paper  slip  round  it,  '  Just  out'  Here 
and  there,  but  very  seldom,  there  would  be  a  poor 
miserable  God  in  Nature  tucked  away  out  of  sight. 
When  no  one  was  looking  I  put  it  on  the  top  of  the 
heap,  well  in  view  ;  but  people  did  not  stop.  One 
man  did,  though,  in  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  a 
negro,  a  very  intelligent-looking  fellow.  He  turned 
over  the  pages  for  five  minutes,  and  then  went  away 
without  buying  the  book.  I  should  have  liked  to 
present  it  to  him. 

Breakfasted  in  the  corner  of  an  English  eating- 
house,  and  read  the  papers.  Not  a  word  about  me, 
not  even  an  advertisement.  Manivet  is  so  careless, 
very  likely  he  has  not  so  much  as  sent  the  orders, 
though  he  declared  he  had.  Besides,  there  are  so 
many  new  books.  Paris  is  deluged  with  them.  But 
for  all  that  it  is  depressing  to  think  that  verses,  which 
ran  like  fire  through  one's  fingers,  which  seemed,  in 
the  feverish  delight  of  writing  them,  beautiful  enough 
to  fill  the  world  with  brightness,  are  more  lost  now  that 
they  are  gone  into  circulation,  than  when  they  were 
but  a  confused  murmuring  in  the  brain  of  their 
author.  It  reminds  one  of  a  ball-dress.  When  it  is 
tried  on   in  the  sympathetic  family  circle,  it  is  ex- 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  49 

pected  to  outshine  and  eclipse  every  dress  in  the 
room  ;  but  under  the  blaze  of  the  gas  it  is  lost  in 
the  crowd.  Well,  Herscher  is  a  lucky  fellow.  He  is 
read  and  understood.  I  met  ladies  carrying  snugly 
under  their  arms  the  little  yellow  volume  just  issued. 
Alas,  for  us  poor  poets  !  It  is  all  very  well  for  us 
to  rank  ourselves  above  and  beyond  the  crowd.  It 
is  for  the  crowd,  after  all,  that  we  write.  When 
Robinson  Crusoe  was  on  his  desert  island,  cut  off 
from  all  the  world  and  without  so  much  as  the  hope 
of  seeing  a  sail  on  the  horizon,  would  he  have  written 
verses,  even  if  he  had  been  a  poetic  genius  ?  Thought 
about  this  a  great  deal  as  I  tramped  through  the 
Champs  Elysees,  lost,  like  my  book,  in  an  unregarding 
stream. 

I  was  coming  back  to  my  hotel,  pretty  glum,  as 
you  may  imagine,  when  on  the  Quai  d'Orsay,  just  in 
front  of  the  grass-grown  ruin  of  the  Cour  des  Comptes, 
I  knocked  against  a  big  fellow,  strolling  along  in  a 
brown  study.  '  Hullo,  Freydet ! '  said  he.  '  Hullo,  V6- 
drine  ! '  said  I.  You'll  remember  my  friend  Ve\drine 
who,  when  he  was  working  at  Mousseaux,  came  with 
his  sweet  young  wife  to  spend  an  afternoon  at  Clos- 
Jallanges.  He  is  not  a  bit  altered,  except  that  he  is 
a  trifle  grey  at  the  temples.  He  held  by  the  hand 
the  fine  boy  with  the  beaming  eyes,  whom  you  used 
to  admire.     His  head  was  erect,  his  movements  slow 

E 


50  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY' 

and  eloquent,  his  whole  carriage  that  of  a  superior 
being.  A  little  way  behind  was  Madame  Vedrine 
pushing  a  perambulator,  in  which  was  a  laughing  little 
girl,  born  since  their  visit  to  Touraine. 

'That  makes  three  for  her,  counting  me,'  said 
Vedrine,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  towards  his  wife ; 
and  the  look  of  Madame  when  her  eye  rests  on  her 
husband  really  does  express  the  tender  satisfaction  of 
motherhood  ;  she  is  like  a  Flemish  Madonna  con- 
templating her  Divine  Child.  Talked  a  long  time, 
leaning  against  the  parapet  of  the  quay  ;  it  did  me 
good  to  be  with  these  honest  folk.  That  is  a  man, 
anyhow,  who  cares  nothing  whatever  for  success,  and 
the  public,  and  the  prizes  !  With  his  connections  (he 
is  cousin  to  Loisillon  and  to  the  Baron  d'Huchenard), 
if  he  chose — if  he  just  put  a  little  water  into  his 
strong  wine — he  might  have  orders,  and  get  the 
Biennial  Prize,  and  be  in  the  Institute  in  no  time. 
But  nothing  tempts  him,  not  even  fame.  '  Fame,'  he 
said,  '  I  have  had  a  taste  of  it.  I  know  what  it  is. 
When  a  man's  smoking,  he  sometimes  gets  his  cigar 
by  the  wrong  end.  Well,  that's  fame :  just  a  cigar 
with  the  hot  end  and  ash  in  your  mouth.' 

'  But,  Vedrine,'  said  I, '  if  you  work  neither  for  fame 

nor  for  money yes,  yes,  I   know  you  despise  it ; 

but,  that  being  so,  I  say,  why  do  you  take  so  much 
trouble  ? ' 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  5 1 

'  For  myself  and  my  personal  satisfaction.    It's  the 
desire  for  creation  and  self-expression.' 

Clearly  here  is  a  man  who  would  have  gone  on 
with  his  work  in  the  desert  island.  He  is  a  true 
artist,  ever  in  quest  of  a  new  type,  and  in  the  inter- 
vals of  his  labour  endeavours  by  change  of  material 
and  change  of  conditions  to  satisfy  his  craving  for 
a  fresh  revelation.  He  has  made  pottery,  enamels, 
mosaics,  the  fine  mosaics  so  much  admired  in  the 
guard-room  at  Mousseaux.  When  the  thing  is  done, 
the  difficulty  overcome,  he  goes  on  to  something 
else.  At  the  present  moment  his  great  idea  is  to 
try  painting  ;  and  the  moment  he  has  finished  his 
warrior,  a  great  bronze  figure  for  the  Rosen  tomb,  he 
intends,  as  he  says,  '  to  put  himself  to  oil'  His  wife 
always  gives  her  approval,  and  rides  behind  him  on 
each  of  his  hobbies.  The  right  wife  for  an  artist 
taciturn,  admiring,  saving  the  grown-up  boy  from  all 
that  might  spoil  his  dream  or  catch  his  feet  as  he 
goes  star-gazing  along.  She  is  the  sort  of  woman 
dear  Germaine,  to  make  a  man  want  to  be  married. 
If  I  knew  another  such,  I  should  certainly  bring  her 
to  Clos-Jallanges,  and  I  am  sure  you  would  love  her. 
But  do  not  be  alarmed.  There  are  not  many  of  them ; 
and  we  shall  go  on  to  the  end,  living  just  by  our  two 
selves,  as  we  do  now. 

Before  we  parted  we  fixed  another  meeting  for 

E  2 


52  ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY' 

Thursday,  not  at  their  house  at  Neuilly,  but  at  the 
studio  on  the  Quai  d'Orsay,  where  the  whole  family 
spend  the  day  together.  This  studio  would  seem  to 
be  the  strangest  place.  It  is  in  a  corner  of  the  old 
Cour  des  Comptes.  He  has  got  permission  to  do 
his  work  there,  in  the  midst  of  wild  vegetation  and 
mouldering  heaps  of  stone.  As  I  went  away  I  turned 
to  watch  them  walking  along  the  quay,  father, 
mother,  and  children,  all  enveloped  in  the  calm  light 
of  the  setting  sun,  which  made  a  halo  round  them  like 
a  Holy  Family.  Strung  together  a  few  lines  on  the 
subject  in  the  evening  at  my  hotel  ;  but  I  am  put  out 
by  having  neighbours,  and  do  not  like  to  spout.  I 
want  my  large  study  at  Jallanges,  with  its  three 
windows  looking  out  on  the  river  and  the  sloping 
vineyards. 

And  now  we  come  to  Wednesday,  the  great  day 
and  the  great  event !  I  will  tell  you  the  story  in 
full.  I  confess  that  I  had  been  looking  forward 
to  my  call  on  the  Astiers  with  much  trepidation, 
which  increased  to-day  as  I  went  up  the  broad 
moist  steps  of  the  staircase  in  the  Rue  de  Beaune. 
What  was  I  going  to  hear  said  about  my  book? 
Would  my  old  master  have  had  time  to  glance 
at  it?  His  opinion  means  for  me  so  very  much. 
He  inspires  me  still  with  the  same  awe  as  when 
I   was   in   his   class,   and    in   his    presence    I    shall 


ONE  OF  THE   'FORTY'  53 

always  feel  myself  a  schoolboy.  His  unerring  and 
impartial  judgment  must  be  that  of  the  awarders 
of  the  prize.  So  you  may  guess  the  tortures  of 
impatience  which  I  underwent  in  the  master's 
large  study,  which  he  gives  up  to  his  wife  for  her 
reception. 

It's  sadly  different  from  the  room  at  the  Foreign 
Office.  The  table  at  which  he  writes  is  pushed  away 
into  a  recess  behind  a  great  screen  covered  in  old 
tapestry,  which  also  hides  part  of  the  bookshelves. 
Opposite,  in  the  place  of  honour,  is  a  portrait  of 
Madame  Astier  in  her  young  days,  wonderfully  like 
her  son,  and  also  like  old  Rehu,  whose  acquaintance 
I  have  just  had  the  honour  of  making.  The  portrait 
has  a  somewhat  depressing  air  of  elegance,  cold  and 
polished,  like  the  large  uncarpeted  room  itself,  with 
its  sombre  curtains  and  its  outlook  on  a  still  more 
sombre  courtyard.  But  in  comes  Madame  Astier, 
and  her  friendly  greeting  brightens  all  the  surround- 
ings. What  is  there  in  the  air  of  Paris  which  pre- 
serves the  beauty  of  a  woman's  face  beyond  the 
natural  term,  like  a  pastel  under  its  glass?  The 
delicate  blonde  with  her  keen  eyes  looked  to  me  three 
years  younger  than  when  I  saw  her  last.  She  began 
by  asking  after  you,  and  how  you  were,  dearest, 
showing  great  interest  in  our  domestic  life.  Then 
suddenly  she  said  :  '  But  your  book,  let  us  talk  about 


54  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

your  book.  How  splendid  !  You  kept  me  reading 
all  night.'  And  she  showered  upon  me  well-chosen 
words  of  praise,  quoted  two  or  three  lines  with  great 
appropriateness,  and  assured  me  that  my  old  master 
was  delighted  ;  he  had  begged  her  to  tell  me  so,  in 
case  he  should  not  be  able  to  tear  himself  from  his 
documents. 

Red  as  you  know  I  always  am,  I  must  have 
turned  as  scarlet  as  after  a  hunt  dinner.  But  my 
joy  soon  passed  away  when  I  heard  what  the  poor 
woman  was  led  on  into  confiding  to  me  about  their 
embarrassments.  They  have  lost  money  ;  then  came 
Astier's  dismissal ;  now  the  master  works  night  and 
day  at  his  historical  books,  which  take  so  long  to 
construct  and  cost  so  much  to  produce,  and  then  are 
not  bought  by  the  public.  Then  they  have  to  help 
old  Rehu,  the  grandfather,  who  has  nothing  but  his 
fees  for  attendance  at  the  Acade'mie  ;  and  at  his  age, 
ninety-eight,  you  may  imagine  the  care  and  indul- 
gence necessary.  Paul  is  a  gcod  son,  hardworking, 
and  on  the  road  to  success,  but  of  course  the  initial 
expenses  of  his  profession  are  tremendous.  So 
Madame  Astier  conceals  their  narrow  means  from 
him  as  well  as  from  her  husband.  Poor  dear  man  ! 
I  heard  his  heavy  even  step  overhead  while  his  wife 
was  stammering  out,  with  trembling  lips  and  hesitat- 
ing, reluctant    words,   a  request  that  if  I  could 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY*  55 

Ah,  the  adorable  woman  !  I  could  have  kissed  the 
hem  of  her  dress  ! 

Now,  my  rVar  sister,  you  will  understand  the 
telegram  you  must  have  received  a  little  while  ago, 
and  who  the  £400  were  for  that  I  asked  for  by 
return  of  post.  I  suppose  you  sent  to  Gobineau  at 
once.  The  only  reason  I  did  not  telegraph  direct  to 
him  is  that,  as  we  '  go  shares  '  in  everything,  our  freaks 
of  liberality  ought,  like  the  rest,  to  be  common  to 
both.  B  *:  it  is  terrible,  is  it  not,  to  think  of  the 
misery  concealed  under  these  brilliant  and  showy 
Parisian  exteriors  ? 

Five  minutes  after  she  had  made  these  distressing 
disclosures  people  arrived  and  the  room  was  full ; 
Madame  Astier  was  conversing  with  a  complete  self- 
possession  and  an  appearance  of  happiness  in  voice 
and  manner  which  made  my  flesh  creep.  Madame 
Loisillon  was  there,  the  wife  of  the  Permanent  Secre- 
tary. She  would  be  much  better  employed  in  looking 
after  her  invalid  than  in  boring  society  with  the 
charms  of  their  delightful  suite,  the  most  comfortable 
in  the  Institute,  '  with  three  rooms  more  than  it  had 
in  Villemain's  time.'  She  must  have  told  us  this  ten 
times,  in  the  pompous  voice  of  an  auctioneer,  and  in 
the  hearing  of  a  friend  living  uncomfortably  in  rooms 
lately  used  for  a  table  d'hote  I 

No  fear  of  such  bad  taste  in   Madame  Ancelin, 


56  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

a  name  often  to  be  seen  in  the  Society  papers. 
A  good  fat  round  lady,  with  regular  features  and 
high  complexion,  piping  out  epigrams,  which  she 
picks  up  and  carries  round  :  a  friendly  creature,  it 
must  be  allowed.  She  too  had  sat  up  all  night  read- 
ing me.  I  begin  to  think  it  is  the  regular  phrase. 
She  begged  me  to  come  to  her  house  whenever  I 
liked.  It  is  one  of  the  three  recognised  meeting- 
places  of  the  Academic  Picheral  would  say  that 
Madame  Ancelin,  mad  on  the  theatre,  welcomes 
more  especially  the  '  Players,'  Madame  Astier  the 
'  Mouldies,'  while  the  Duchess  Padovani  monopolises 
the  '  Dukes,'  the  aristocracy  of  the  Institute.  But 
really  these  three  haunts  of  fame  and  intrigue  com- 
municate one  with  another,  for  on  Wednesday  in  the 
Rue  de  Beaune  I  saw  a  whole  procession  of  deities 
of  every  description.  There  was  Danjou  the  writer 
of  plays,  Rousse,  Boissier,  Dumas,  de  Bretigny, 
Baron  Huchenard  of  the  Inscriptions  et  Belles- 
Lettres,  and  the  Prince  d'Athis  of  the  Sciences 
Morales  et  Politiques.  There  is  a  fourth  circle  in 
process  of  formation,  collected  round  Madame  Eviza, 
a  Jewess  with  full  cheeks  and  long  narrow  eyes, 
who  flirts  with  the  whole  Institute  and  sports  its 
colours  ;  she  has  green  embroideries  on  the  waistcoat 
of  her  spring  costume,  and  a  little  bonnet  trimmed 
with  wings    a   la  Mercury.      She  carries  her   fiirta- 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY'  57 

tions  a  little  too  far.  I  heard  her  say  to  Danjou, 
whom  she  was  asking  to  come  and  see  her,  '  The 
attractions  of  Madame  Ancelin's  house  are  for  the 
palate,  those  of  mine  for  the  heart.' 

1  I  require  both  lodging  and  board,'  was  the  cold 
reply  of  Danjou.  Danjou,  I  believe,  covers  the  heart 
of  a  cynic  under  his  hard  i  ipenetrable  mask  and  his 
black  stiff  thatch,  like  a  shepherd  of  Latium.  Madame 
Eviza  is  a  fine  talker,  and  is  mistress  of  consider- 
able information  ;  I  heard  her  quoting  to  the  old 
Baron  Huchenard  whole  sentences  from  his  'Cave 
Man,'  and  discussing  Shelley  with  a  boyish  magazine 
writer,  neat  and  solemn,  with  a  pointed  chin  resting 
on  the  top  of  a  high  collar. 

When  I  was  young  it  was  the  fashion  to  begin 
with  verse-writing,  whatever  was  to  follow,  whether 
prose,  business,  or  the  bar.  Nowadays  people  begin 
with  literary  criticism,  generally  a  study  on  Shelley. 
Madame  Astier  introduced  me  to  this  young  gen- 
tleman, whose  views  carry  weight  in  the  literary 
world  ;  but  my  moustaches  and  the  colour  of  my 
skin,  as  brown  as  that  of  a  sapper-and-miner,  pro- 
bably failed  to  please  him.  We  spoke  only  a  few 
words,  while  I  watched  the  performance  of  the  candi- 
dates and  their  wives  or  relatives,  who  had  come  to 
show  themselves  and  to  see  how  the  ground  lay. 
Ripault-Babm  is  very  old,  and  Loisillon  cannot  last 


58  ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY' 

much  longer;  and  around  these  seats,  which  must 
soon  be  vacant,  rages  a  war  of  angry  looks  and 
poisoned  words. 

Dalzon  the  novelist,  your  favourite,  was  there ;  he 
has  a  kindly,  open,  intellectual  face,  as  you  would 
expect  from  his  books.  But  you  would  have  been 
sorry  to  see  him  cringing  and  sniggering  before  a 
nobody  like  Bretigny,  who  has  never  done  anything, 
but  occupies  in  the  Academie  the  seat  reserved  for 
the  man  of  the  world,  a 3  in  the  country  we  keep  a 
place  for  the  poor  man  in  our  Twelfth  Night  festivi- 
ties. And  not  only  did  he  court  Bretigny,  but  every 
Academician  who  cau.e  in.  There  he  was,  listening 
to  old  Rehu's  stories,  laughing  at  Danjou's  smallest 
jokes  with  the  'counterfeited  glee'  with  which  at 
Louis-le-Grand  we  rewarded  what  Vedrine  used  to 
call  '  usher's  wit.'  All  this  to  bring  his  twelve  votes 
of  last  year  up  to  the  required  majority. 

Old  Jean  Rihu  looked  in  at  his  granddaughter's 
for  a  few  minutes,  wonderfully  fresh  and  erect,  well 
buttoned  up  in  a  long  frock  coat.  He  has  a  little 
shrivelled  face,  looking  as  if  it  had  been  in  the  fire, 
and  a  short  cottony  beard,  like  moss  on  an  old  stone. 
His  eyes  are  bright  and  his  memory  marvellous,  but 
he  is  deaf,  and  this  depresses  him  and  drives  him 
into  long  soliloquies  about  his  interesting  personal 
recollections.     To-day  he  told    us  about  the  house- 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY*  59 

hold  of  the  Empress  Josephine  at  Malmaison  ;  his 
'compatriote,'  he  calls  her,  both  being  Creoles  from 
Martinique.  He  described  her,  in  her  muslins  and 
cashmere  shawls,  smelling  of  musk  so  strongly  as  to 
take  one's  breath  away,  and  surrounded  with  flowers 
from  the  colonies.  Even  in  war  time  these  flowers, 
by  the  gallantry  of  the  enemy,  were  allowed  to  pass 
the  lines  of  their  fleet.  He  also  talked  of  David's 
studio,  as  it  was  under  the  Consulate,  and  did  us  the 
painter,  rating  and  scolding  his  pupils  with  his 
mouth  all  awry  and  the  remains  of  his  dinner  in  his 
cheek.  After  each  extract  from  the  long  roll  of  his 
experience,  the  patriarch  shakes  his  head  solemnly, 
gazes  into  space,  and  says  in  his  firm  tones,  'That's 
a  thing  that  I  have  seen.'  It  is  his  signature,  as 
it  were,  put  at  the  bottom  of  the  picture  to  prove  it 
genuine.  I  ought  to  say  that,  with  the  exception  of 
Dalzon,  who  pretended  to  be  drinking  in  his  words,  I 
was  the  only  person  in  the  room  who  attended  to  the 
old  man's  tales.  They  seemed  to  me  much  more 
worth  hearing  than  the  stories  of  a  certain  Lavaux, 
a  journalist,  or  librarian,  or  something — a  dreadful 
retailer  of  gossip,  whatever  else  he  may  be.  The 
moment  he  came  in  there  was  a  general  cry,  '  Ah, 
here's  Lavaux  ! '  and  a  circle  was  formed  round  him 
at  once,  all  laughing  and  enjoying  themselves.  Even 
the  frowning  '  deities '  revel  in  his  anecdotes.      He 


60  ©NE  OF   THE   c  FORTY  ' 

has  a  smooth-shaven,  quasi-clerical  face  and  goggle 
eyes.  He  prefaces  all  his  tales  and  witticisms  with 
such  remarks  as  'I  was  saying  to  De  Broglie,'  or 
'  Dumas  told  me  the  other  day,'  or  '  I  have  it  from 
the  Duchess  herself,'  backing  himself  up  with  the 
biggest  names  and  drawing  his  instances  from  all 
quarters.  He  is  a  pet  of  the  ladies,  whom  he  posts 
up  in  all  the  intrigues  of  the  Academie  and  the 
Foreign  Office,  the  world  of  letters  and  the  world 
of  fashion.  He  is  very  intimate  with  Danjou,  and  a 
constant  companion  of  the  Prince  d'Athis,  with  whom 
he  came  in.  Dalzon  and  the  young  critic  of 
Shelley  he  patronises ;  and  indeed  he  exercises  a 
power  and  authority  quite  inexplicable  to  me. 

In  the  medley  of  stories  which  he  produced  from 
his  inexhaustible  chops — most  of  them  were  riddles 
to  a  simple  rustic  like  myself— one  only  struck  me 
as  amusing.  It  was  the  mishap  which  occurred  to 
a  young  Count  Adriani,  of  the  Papal  Guard.  He  was 
going  through  Paris,  in  attendance  upon  a  reverend 
personage,  to  take  a  cardinal's  hat  and  cap  to  some 
one  or  other,  and  the  story  is  that  he  left  the  insignia 
at  the  house  of  some  fair  lady  whom  he  met  with  as 
he  left  the  train,  and  of  whom  he  knew  neither  the 
name  nor  the  address,  being,  poor  young  man  !  a 
stranger  in  Paris.  So  he  had  to  write  off  to  the 
Papal  Court  for  new  specimens  of  the  ecclesiastical 


ONE   OF   THE  'FORTY*  6 1 

headgear  to  replace  the  first,  which  the  lady  must 
find  entirely  superfluous.  The  best  part  of  the  story 
is  that  the  little  Count  Adriani  is  the  Nuncio's  own 
nephew,  and  that  at  the  Duchess's  last  party — she  is 
called  '  the  Duchess '  in  Academic  circles  just  as  she 
is  at  Mousseaux — he  told  his  adventure  quite  naively 
in  his  broken  French.  Lavaux  imitates  it  wonder- 
fully. 

In  the  midst  of  the  laughter  and  the  exclamations, 
'Charming!    Ah,   what  a  man   Lavaux  is!'  etc.,  I 
asked    Madame  Ancelin,  who  was   sitting  near  me, 
who   Lavaux   was,   and    what   he  did.      The  good 
lady  was  amazed.     '  Lavaux  ?    You  don't  know  him  ? 
He  is  the  Duchess's  zebra.'     Thereupon  she  departed 
in  pursuit  of  Danjou,  and  left  me  much  the  wiser  ! 
Really     Parisian     society   is   a   most    extraordinary 
thing ;  its   vocabulary  alters  every  season.     Zebra — 
a  zebra — what  can  it  possibly  mean  ?     But  I  began 
to  see  that  I   was  staying  much  too  long,  and  that 
my  old  master  was  not  going  to  appear  ;  it  was  time 
I  went.     I  made  my  way  through  the  chairs  to  say 
good-bye  to  my  hostess,  and  as  I  passed  saw  Made- 
moiselle Moser  whimpering  before  Bretigny's  white 
waistcoat.     Poor  Moser  became  a  candidate  ten  years 
ago,  and  now  has  lost  all  hopes.    So  he  goes  nowhere 
himself,  but  sends  his  daughter,  a  lady  of  a  certain 
age,  not  at  all  pretty,  who  plays  the  part  of  Anti- 


62  ONE  OF  THE   'FORTY' 

gone,  climbs  up  to  the  top  floors,  makes  herself  gene- 
ral messenger  and  drudge  to  the  Academicians  and 
their  wives,  corrects  proofs,  nurses  the  rheumatic,  and 
spends  her  forlorn  maidenhood  in  running  after  the 
Academic  chair  which  her  father  will  never  get. 
Dressed  quietly  in  black,  with  an  unbecoming  bonnet, 
she  stood  in  the  doorway  ;  and  near  her  was  Dalzon, 
very  much  excited,  between  two  members  of  the 
Acaddmie  who  looked  judicial.  He  was  protesting 
violently  and  with  a  choking  voice.  '  It's  not  true, 
it's  a  shame,  I  never  wrote  it ! '  Here  was  a  mys- 
tery ;  and  Madame  Astier,  who  might  have  enligh- 
tened me,  was  herself  engaged  in  close  confabulation 
with  Lavaux  and  the  Prince  d'Athis.  You  must 
have  seen  the  Prince  d'Athis  driving  about  Mous- 
seaux  with  the  Duchess.  '  Sammy,'  as  he  is  called,  is 
a  long,  thin,  bald  man,  with  stooping  shoulders,  a 
crinkled  face  as  white  as  wax,  and  a  black  beard 
reaching  half  down  his  chest,  as  if  his  hair,  falling 
from  his  head,  had  lodged  upon  his  chin.  He  never 
speaks,  and  when  he  looks  at  you  seems  shocked  at 
your  daring  to  breathe  the  same  air  as  he.  He  is 
high  in  the  service,  has  a  close,  mysterious,  English 
air  which  reminds  you  that  he  is  Lord  Palmerston's 
great-nephew,  and  is  in  high  repute  at  the  Institute 
and  on  the  Quai  d'Orsay.  He  is  said  to  be  the  only 
French  diplomatist  whom   Bismarck  never  dared  to 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY*  63 

look  in  the  face.  It  is  supposed  that  he  will  very 
shortly  have  one  of  the  great  Embassies.  Then 
what  will  become  of  the  Duchess  ?  To  leave  Paris 
and  follow  him  would  be  a  serious  thing  for  a  leader 
of  society.  And  then  abroad  the  world  might  refuse 
to  accept  their  equivocal  relations,  which  here  are 
looked  upon  almost  as  marriage,  in  consideration  of 
the  propriety  of  their  conduct  and  their  respect  for 
appearances,  and  considering  also  the  sad  state  of 
the  Duke,  half  paralysed  and  twenty  years  older  than 
his  wife,  who  is  also  his  niece. 

The  Prince  was  no  doubt  discussing  these  grave 
matters  with  Lavaux  and  Madame  Astier  when  I 
drew  near.  A  man  just  arrived  in  any  society,  no 
matter  where,  soon  finds  how  much  he  is  '  out  of  it.' 
He  understands  neither  the  phrases  current  nor  the 
thoughts,  and  is  a  nuisance.  I  was  just  leaving 
when  that  kind  Madame  Astier  called  me  back,  say- 
ing, '  Will  you  not  go  up  and  see  him  ?  He  will  be  so 
glad.'  So  I  went  up  a  narrow  staircase  in  the  wall 
to  see  my  old  master.  I  heard  his  loud  voice  from 
the  end  of  the  passage, '  Is  that  you,  Fage  ?' 

1  No,  sir,'  said  L 

'  Why,  it's  Freydet !  Take  care  ;  keep  your  head 
down.' 

It  was  in  fact  impossible  to  stand  upright  under 
the  sloping  roof.     What  a  different  place  from  the 


04  ONE  OF  THE   'FORTY' 

Foreign  Office,  where  I  last  saw  him,  in  a  lofty  gallery 
lined  with  portfolios. 

'  A  kennel,  is  it  not  ? '  said  the  worthy  man  with 
a  smile  ;  '  but  if  you  knew  what  treasures  I  have  here' 
— and  he  waved  his  hand  towards  a  large  set  of  pigeon- 
holes containing  at  least  10,000  important  MS.  docu- 
ments, collected  by  him  during  the  last  few  years. 
'  There  is  history  in  those  drawers,'  he  went  on, 
growing  more  animated  and  playing  with  his  magni- 
fying glass  ;  '  history  new  and  authentic,  let  them  say 
what  they  will.'  But  in  spite  of  his  words  he  seemed 
to  me  gloomy  and  uncomfortable.  He  has  been 
treated  very  badly.  First  came  that  cruel  dismissal ; 
and  now,  as  he  has  continued  to  publish  historical 
works  based  on  new  documents,  people  say  that  he 
has  plundered  from  the  Bourbon  papers.  This 
calumny  was  started  in  the  Institute,  and  is  traced 
to  Baron  Huchenard,  who  calls  his  collection  of  MSS. 
'  the  first  in  France,'  and  hates  to  be  outdone  by  that 
of  Astier.  He  tries  to  revenge  himself  by  treacherous 
criticisms,  launched,  like  an  assegai,  from  the  bush. 
'  Even  my  letters  of  Charles  V.,'  said  Astier,  'even  those 
they  want  now  to  prove  false.  And  on  what  ground 
if  you  please  ?  For  a  mere  trifling  error,  "  Maitre 
Rabelais "  instead  of  "  Frere  Rabelais."  As  if  an 
emperor's  pen  never  made  a  slip !  It's  dishonest, 
that's  what  it  is  ! '  And,  seeing  that  I  shared  his 
indignation,  my  good  old  master  grasped  me  by  both 


ONE  OF  THE  '  FORTY  '  65 

hands  and  said, '  But  there  !  enough  of  these  slanders. 
Madame  Astier  told  you,  I  suppose,  about  your  book  ? 
There  is  still  a  little  too  much  for  my  taste  ;  but  I  am 
pleased  with  it  on  the  whole.'  What  there  is '  too  much ' 
of  in  my  poetry  is  what  he  calls  '  the  weed '  of  the 
fancy.  At  school  he  was  always  at  it,  plucking  it  out, 
and  rooting  it  up.  Now,  dear  Germaine,  attend.  I  give 
you  the  last  part  of  our  conversation,  word  for  word. 

/.  Do  you  think,  sir,  that  I  have  any  chance  of  the 
Boisseau  prize  ? 

M.  A.  After  such  a  book  as  that,  my  dear  boy,  it 
is  not  a  prize  you  deserve,  but  a  seat.  Loisillon  is 
hard  hit ;  Ripault  cannot  last  much  longer.  Don't 
move  ;  leave  it  to  me  ;  henceforward  I  look  upon  you 
as  a  candidate. 

I  don't  know  what  I  said  in  reply.  I  was  so  con- 
fused that  I  feel  still  as  if  I  were  dreaming.  Me,  me, 
in  the  Academie  Franchise  !  Take  good  care  of  your- 
self, dearest,  and  get  your  naughty  legs  well  again  ; 
^or  you  must  come  to  Paris  on  the  great  occasion, 
and  see  your  brother,  with  his  sword  at  his  side  and 
his  green  coat  embroidered  with  palms,  take  his  place 
among  all  the  greatest  men  of  France  !  Why,  it 
makes  me  dizzy  now !  So  I  send  you  a  kiss,  and 
am  off  to  bed. 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

Abel  de  Freydet. 
f 


66  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

You  may  imagine  that  among  all  these  doings  I 
have  quite  forgotten  the  seeds,  matting,  shrubs,  and 
all  the  rest  of  my  purchases.  But  I  will  see  about 
them  soon,  as  I  shall  stay  here  some  time.  Astier- 
Rehu  advised  me  to  say  nothing,  but  to  go  about  in 
Academic  society.  To  show  myself  and  be  seen  is 
the  great  point. 


ONE  OF  THE  '  FORTY '  67 


CHAPTER   IV. 

'  DON'T  trust  them,  my  dear  Freydet.  I  know  that 
trick ;  it's  the  recruiting  trick.  The  fact  is,  these 
people  feel  that  their  day  is  past,  and  that  under 
their  cupola  they  are  beginning  to  get  mouldy.  The 
Academie  is  a  taste  that  is  going  out,  an  ambition  no 
longer  in  fashion.  Its  success  is  only  apparent.  And 
indeed  for  the  last  few  years  the  distinguished  com- 
pany has  given  up  waiting  at  home  for  custom,  and 
comes  down  into  the  street  to  tout.  Everywhere,  in 
society,  in  the  studios,  at  the  publishers',  in  the 
greenroom,  in  every  literary  or  artistic  centre,  you 
will  find  the  Recruiting-Academician,  smiling  on 
young  budding  talent.  "  The  Academie  has  its  eye 
on  you,  my  young  friend."  If  a  man  has  got  some 
reputation,  and  has  just  written  his  third  or  fourth 
book,  like  you,  then  the  invitation  takes  a  more  direct 
form.  "  Don't  forget  us,  my  dear  fellow  ;  now's  your 
time."  Or  perhaps,  brusquely,  with  a  friendly  scold- 
ing, "  Well,  so  you  don't  mean  to  be  one  of  us. 
When  it's  a  man  in  society  who  is  to  be  caught  a 


68  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

translator  of  Ariosto  or  a  writer  of  amateur  plays, 
there  is  a  gentler  and  more  insinuating  way  of 
playing  off  the  trick.  And  if  our  fashionable  writer 
protests  that  he  is  not  a  gun  of  sufficient  calibre, 
the  Recruiting-Academician  brings  out  the  regular 
phrase,  that  "  the  Academie  is  a  club."  Lord  bless 
us,  how  useful  that  phrase  has  been !  "  The  Aca- 
demie is  a  club,  and  its  admission  is  not  only  for 
the  work,  but  the  worker."  Meantime  the  Recruiting- 
Academician  is  welcomed  everywhere,  made  much  of, 
asked  to  dinner  and  other  entertainments.  He  be- 
comes a  parasite,  fawned  upon  by  those  whose  hopes 
he  arouses — and  is  careful  to  maintain.' 

But  at  this  point  kind-hearted  Freydet  protested 
indignantly.  Never  would  his  old  master  lend  himself 
to  such  base  uses.  Vedrine  shrugged  his  shoulders  : 
'Why,  the  worst  of  the  lot  is  the  recruiter  who  is 
sincere  and  disinterested.  He  believes  in  the  Aca- 
demie ;  his  whole  life  is  centred  in  the  Academie  ; 
and  when  he  says  to  you,  "  If  you  only  knew  the  joy 
of  it,"  with  a  smack  of  the  tongue  like  a  man  eating 
a  ripe  peach,  he  is  saying  what  he  really  means,  and 
so  his  bait  is  the  more  alluring  and  dangerous.  But 
when  once  the  hook  has  been  swallowed  and  struck, 
then  the  Academician  takes  no  more  notice  of  the 
victim,  but  leaves  him  to  struggle  and  dangle  at  the 
end  of  the  line.     You  are  an  angler  ;  well,  when  you 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  69 

have  taken  a  fine  perch  or  a  big  pike,  and  you  drag 
it  along  behind  your  boat,  what  do  you  call  that  ?  ' 

'  Drowning  your  fish.' 

•  Just  so.  Well,  look  at  Moser  !  Does  he  not  look 
like  a  drowned  fish  ?  He  has  been  carried  along  in 
tow  for  these  ten  years.  And  there's  De  Salele,  and 
Guerineau,  and  I  don't  know  how  many  others,  who 
have  even  given  up  struggling.' 

'  But  still  people  do  get  into  the  Academie  sooner 
or  later.' 

'  Not  those  once  taken  in  tow.  And  suppose  a 
man  does  succeed,  where's  the  good  ?  What  does  it 
bring  you  ?  Money  ?  Not  as  much  as  your  hay-crop. 
Fame  ?  Yes,  a  hole-and-corner  fame  within  a  space 
no  bigger  than  your  hat.  It  would  be  something  if  it 
gave  talent,  but  those  who  have  talent  lose  it  when 
once  they  get  inside  and  are  chilled  by  the  air  of  the 
place.  The  Academie  is  a  club,  you  know  ;  so  there 
is  a  tone  that  must  be  adopted,  and  things  which 
must  be  left  unsaid,  or  watered  down.  There's  an 
end  to  originality,  an  end  to  bold  neck-or-nothing 
strokes.  The  liveliest  spirits  never  move  for  fear 
of  tearing  their  green  coats.  It  is  like  putting 
children  into  their  Sunday  clothes  and  saying 
"  Amuse  yourselves,  my  dears,  but  don't  get  dirty. ' 
And  they  do  amuse  themselves,  I  can  tell  you.  Of 
course,  they  have  the  adulation   of  the  Academical 


70  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

taverns,  and  their  fair  hostesses.  But  what  a  bore  it 
is  !  I  speak  from  experience,  for  I  have  let  myself 
be  dragged  there  occasionally.  I  can  say  wi;h  old 
Rehu,  "That's  a  thing  I  have  seen."  Silly  preten- 
tious women  have  favoured  me  with  ill-digested 
scraps  from  magazine  articles,  coming  out  of  their 
little  beaks  like  the  written  remarks  of  characters  in 
a  comic  paper.  I  have  heard  fat,  good-natured 
Madame  Ancelin,  a  woman  as  stupid  as  anything, 
cackle  with  admiration  at  the  epigrams  of  Danjou, 
regular  stage  manufacture,  about  as  natural  as  the 
curling  of  his  wig.' 

Here  was  a  shock  for  Freydet  :  Danjou,  the 
shepherd  of  Latium,  had  a  wig  ! 

'  A  half-wig,  what  they  call  a  breton.  At  Madame 
Astier's,'  he  went  on,  '  I  have  gone  through  lectures 
on  ethnology  enough  to  kill  a  hippopotamus  ;  and 
at  the  table  of  the  Duchess,  the  severe  and  haughty 
Duchess,  I  have  seen  that  old  monkey  Laniboire, 
seated  in  the  place  of  honour,  do  and  say  things  for 
which,  if  he  had  not  been  a  "  deity,"  he  would  have 
been  turned  out  of  the  house,  with  a  good-bye  in 
her  Grace's  characteristic  style.  And  the  joke  is,  that 
it  was  she  who  got  him  into  the  Academic  She 
has  seen  that  very  Laniboire  at  her  feet,  begging 
humbly,  pitcously,  importunately,  to  get  himself 
elected.     "  Elect  him,"  she  said  to  my  cousin  Loisil- 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY  71 

Ion,  "  elect  him,  do  ;  and  then  I  shall  be  rid  of  him." 
And  now  she  looks  up  to  him  as  a  god  ;  he  is  always 
next  her  at  table  ;  and  her  contempt  has  changed  into 
an  abject  admiration.  It  is  like  a  savage,  falling  down 
and  quaking  before  the  idol  he  has  carved.  I  know 
what  Academic  society  is,  with  all  its  foolish,  ludi- 
crous, mean  little  intrigues.  You  want  to  get  into 
it !  What  for,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  You  have  the 
happiest  life  in  the  world.  Even  I,  who  am  not  set 
upon  anything,  was  near  envying  you,  when  I  saw 
you  with  your  sister  at  Clos-Jallanges  :  a  perfect 
house  on  a  hill-side,  airy  rooms,  chimney-corners  big 
enough  to  get  into,  oakwoods,  cornfields,  vineyards, 
river  ;  the  life  of  a  country  gentleman,  as  it  is  painted 
in  the  novels  of  Tolstoi  ;  fishing  and  shooting,  a 
pleasant  library,  a  neighbourhood  not  too  dull,  the 
peasants  reasonably  honest ;  and  to  prevent  you  from 
growing  callous  in  the  midst  of  such  unbroken  satis- 
faction, your  companion,  suffering  and  smiling,  full 
of  life  and  keenness,  poor  thing,  in  her  arm-chair, 
delighted  to  listen,  when  you  came  in  from  a  ride 
and  read  her  a  good  sonnet,  genuine  poetry,  fresh 
from  nature,  which  you  had  pencilled  on  your  saddle, 
or  lying  flat  in  the  grass,  as  we  are  now— only  with- 
out this  horrible  din  of  waggons  and  trumpets.' 

V^drine   stopped    perforce.      Some  heavy  drays, 
loaded  with  iron,  and  shaking  ground  and  houses  as 


72  ONE  OF   THE   '  FORTY ' 

they  went  by,  a  piercing  alarum  from  the  neighbour- 
ing barracks,  the  harsh  screech  '  of  a  steam-tug's 
whistle,  an  organ,  and  the  bells  of  Sainte-Clotilde,  all 
united  at  the  moment,  as  from  time  to  time  the  noises 
of  a  great  town  will  do,  in  a  thundering  tutti ;  and 
the  outrageous  babel,  close  to  the  ear,  contrasted 
strangely  with  the  natural  field  of  grass  and  weed, 
overshadowed  by  tall  trees,  in  which  the  two  old 
classmates  were  enjoying  their  smoke  and  their 
familiar  chat. 

It  was  at  the  corner  of  the  Quai  d'Orsay  and  the 
Rue  de  Bellechasse,  on  the  ruined  terrace  of  the  old 
Cour  des  Comptes,  now  occupied  by  sweet  wild 
plants,  like  a  clearing  in  the  forest  at  the  coming  of 
spring.  Clumps  of  lilac  past  the  flowering  and  dense 
thickets  of  plane  and  maple  grew  all  along  the  balus- 
trades, which  were  loaded  with  ivy  and  clematis :  and 
within  this  verdant  screen  the  pigeons  lighted,  the 
bees  wandered,  and  under  a  beam  of  yellow  light 
might  be  seen  the  calm  and  handsome  profile  of 
Madame  Vddrine,  nursing  her  youngest,  while  the 
eldest  threw  stones  at  the  numerous  cats,  grey,  black, 
yellow,  and  tabby,  which  might  be  called  the  tigers 
of  this  Parisian  jungle. 

'  And  as  we  are  talking  of  your  poetry,  you  will 
wish  me  to  speak  my  mind,  won't  you,  old  boy  ?  Well, 
I  have  only  just  looked  into  your  last  book,  but  it  has 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY1  73 

not  that  smell  of  bluebells  and  thyme  that  I  found 
in  the  others.  Your  "  God  in  Nature  "  has  rather  a 
flavour  of  the  Academic  bay ;  and  I  am  much  afraid 
you  have  made  a  sacrifice  of  your  "  woodnotes  wild," 
you  know,  and  thrown  them,  by  way  of  pass-money, 
into  the  mouth  of  Crocodilus.' 

This  nickname  '  Crocodilus,'  turning  up  at  the 
bottom  of  Vedrine's  schoolboy  recollections,  amused 
them  for  a  moment.  They  pictured  once  more  Astier- 
Reliu  at  his  desk,  with  streaming  brow,  his  cap  well 
on  the  back  of  his  head,  and  a  yard  of  red  ribbon 
relieved  against  the  black  of  his  gown,  emphasising 
with  the  solemn  movements  of  his  wide  sleeves  the 
well-worn  joke  from  Racine  or  Moliere,  or  his  own 
rounded  periods  in  the  style  of  Vicq-d'Azir,  whose 
seat  in  the  Academie  he  eventually  filled.  Then 
Freydet,  vexed  with  himself  for  laughing  at  his  old 
master,  began  to  praise  his  work  as  an  historian. 
What  a  mass  of  original  documents  he  had  brought 
out  of  their  dust ! 

'  There's  nothing  in  that,'  retorted  Vedrine  with 
unqualified  contempt.  In  his  view,  the  most  interest- 
ing documents  in  hands  of  a  fool  had  no  more 
meaning  than  has  the  great  book  of  humanity  itself, 
when  consulted  by  a  stupid  novelist.  The  gold  all 
turns  into  dead  leaves.  '  Look  here,'  he  went  on  with 
rising  animation,  '  a  man  is  not  to  be  called  an  his- 


74  ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY' 

torian  because  he  has  expanded  unpublished  material 
into  great  octavo  volumes,  which  are  shelved  unread 
among  the  books  of  information,  and  should  be  la- 
belled, w  For  external  application  only.  Shake  the 
bottle."  It  is  only  French  frivolity  that  attaches 
a  serious  value  to  compilations  like  those.  The 
English  and  Germans  despise  us.  "  Ineptissimus  vir 
Astier-Rehu,"  says  Mommsen  somewhere  or  other  in 
a  note.' 

'Yes,  and  it  was  you,  you  heartless  fellow,  who 
made  the  poor  man  read  out  the  note  before  the 
whole  class.' 

'  And  a  terrible  jaw  he  gave  me.  It  was  nearly  as 
bad  as  when  one  day  I  got  so  tired  of  hearing  him 
tell  us  that  the  will  was  a  lever,  a  lever  with  which 
you  might  lift  anything  anywhere,  that  I  answered 
him  from  my  place  in  his  own  voice :  "  Could  you  fly 
with  it,  sir — could  you  fly  with  it  ? " ' 

Freydet,  laughing,  abandoned  his  defence  of  the 
historian,  and  began  to  plead  for  Astier-Rehu  as  a 
teacher.     But  V^drine  went  off  again. 

'  A  teacher  !  What  is  he  ?  A  poor  creature  who 
has  spent  his  life  in  "  weeding "  hundreds  of  brains, 
or,  in  plain  terms,  destroying  whatever  in  them  was 
original  and  natural,  all  the  living  germs  which  it  is 
the  first  duty  of  an  educator  to  nourish  and  protect. 
To  think  how  the  lot  of  us  were  hoed,  and  stubbed, 


ONE  OF   THE   '  FORTY  '  75 

and  grubbed  !  One  or  two  did  not  take  kindly  to  the 
process,  but  the  old  fellow  went  at  it  with  his  tools 
and  his  nails,  till  he  made  us  all  as  neat  and  as  flat  as 
a  schoolroom  bench.  And  see  the  results  of  his  work- 
manship !  A  few  rebels,  like  Herscher,  who,  from 
hatred  of  the  conventional,  go  for  exaggeration  and 
ugliness,  or  like  myself,  who,  thanks  to  that  old  ass, 
love  roughness  and  contortion  so  much,  that  my 
sculpture,  they  say,  is  "like  a  bag  of  walnuts."  And 
the  rest  of  them  levelled,  scraped,  and  empty  ! ' 

'  And  pray,  what  of  me  ? '  said  Freydet,  with  an 
affected  despair. 

1  Oh,  as  for  you,  Nature  has  preserved  you  so  far  ; 
but  look  out  for  yourself  if  you  let  Crocodilus  clip 
you  again.  And  to  think  that  we  have  public  schools 
to  provide  us  with  this  sort  of  pedagogue,  and  that 
we  reward  him  with  endowments,  and  honours,  and 
a  place  (save  the  mark)  in  the  National  Institute  ! ' 

Stretched  at  his  ease  in  the  long  grass,  with  his 
head  on  his  arm  and  waving  a  fern,  which  he  used  as 
a  sun-screen,  Vedrine  calmly  uttered  these  strong  re- 
marks, without  the  slightest  play  of  feature  in  his 
broad  face,  pale  and  puffy  like  that  of  an  Indian  idol. 
Only  the  tiny  laughing  eyes  broke  the  general  ex- 
pression of  dreamy  indolence. 

His  companion  was  shocked  at  such  treatment  of 
what  he  was  accustomed  to  respect.     '  But,'  he  said, 


76  ONE  OF   THE   '  FORTY  ' 

'  if  you  are  such  an  enemy  of  the  father,  how  do  you 
manage  to  be  such  a  friend  of  the  son  ? ' 

'  I  am  no  more  one  than  the  other.  I  look  upon 
Paul  Astier,  with  his  imperturbable  sang-froid  and 
his  pretty-miss  complexion,  as  a  problem.  I  should 
like  to  live  long  enough  to  see  what  becomes  of  him.' 

'  Ah,  Monsieur  de  Freydet,'  said  Madame  Vedrine, 
joining  in  the  conversation  from  the  place  where  she 
sat,  '  if  you  only  knew  what  a  tool  he  makes  of  my 
husband  !  All  the  restorations  at  Mousseaux,  the  new 
gallery  towards  the  river,  the  concert-room,  the  chapel, 
all  were  done  by  Vedrine.  And  the  Rosen  tomb  too. 
He  will  only  be  paid  for  the  statue  ;  but  the  whole 
thing  is  really  his — conception,  arrangement,  every- 
thing.' 

1  There,  there,  that  will  do,'  said  the  artist  quietly. 
'  As  for  Mousseaux,  the  young  fellow  would  certainly 
have  been  hard  put  to  it  to  rediscover  a  fragment  of 
the  design  under  the  layers  of  rubbish  that  the  archi- 
tects have  been  depositing  there  for  the  last  thirty 
years.  But  the  neighbourhood  was  charming,  the 
Duchess  amiable  and  not  at  all  tiresome,  and  there 
was  friend  Freydet,  whom  I  had  found  out  at  Clos- 
Jallanges.  Besides,  the  truth  is  I  have  too  many 
ideas,  and  am  just  tormented  with  them.  To  relieve 
me  of  a  few  is  to  do  me  a  real  service.  My  brain  is 
like  a  railway  junction,  where  the  engines  are  getting 


ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY'  77 

up  steam  on  all  the  lines  at  once.  The  young  man 
saw  that.  He  has  not  many  ideas.  So  he  purloins 
mine,  and  brings  them  before  the  public,  quite  certain 
that  I  shall  not  protest.  But  he  does  not  take  me 
in.  Don't  I  know  when  he  is  going  to  filch !  He 
preserves  his  little  indifferent  air,  with  no  expression 
in  his  eyes,  until  suddenly  there  comes  a  little  ner- 
vous twitch  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth.  Done ! 
Nabbed !  I  have  no  doubt  he  thinks  to  himself, 
"  Good  Lord,  what  a  simpleton  Vedrine  is  !"  He  has 
not  the  least  notion  that  I  watch  him  and  enjoy  his 
little  game.  Now,'  said  the  sculptor  as  he  got  up, '  I 
will  show  you  my  Knight,  and  then  we  will  go  over 
the  ruin.     It  is  worth  looking  at,  you  will  find.' 

Passing  from  the  terrace  into  the  building,  they 
mounted  a  semicircle  of  steps  and  went  through  a 
square  room,  formerly  the  apartment  of  the  Secretary 
to  the  Conseil  d'Etat.  It  had  no  floor  and  no  ceiling, 
all  the  upper  storeys  had  fallen  through  and  showed 
the  blue  sky  between  the  huge  iron  girders,  now 
twisted  by  the  fire,  which  had  divided  the  floors.  In 
a  corner,  against  a  wall  to  which  were  attached  long 
iron  pipes  overgrown  with  creepers,  lay  in  three 
pieces  a  model  of  the  Rosen  tomb,  buried  in  nettles 
and  rubbish. 

1  You  see,'  said  Vedrine, '  or  rather  you  can't  see.' 
And  he  began  to  describe  the  monument.     The  little 


78  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY' 

Princess's  conception  of  a  tomb  was  not  easy  to  come 
up  to.  Several  things  had  been  tried— reminiscences 
of  Egyptian,  Assyrian,  and  Ninevite  monuments — 
before  deciding  on  Vedrine's  plan,  which  would  raise 
an  outcry  among  architects,  but  was  certainly  impres- 
sive. A  soldier's  tomb :  an  open  tent  with  the  canvas 
looped  back,  disclosing  within,  before  an  altar,  the 
wide  low  sarcophagus,  modelled  on  a  camp  bedstead, 
on  which  lay  the  good  Knight  Crusader,  fallen  for 
King  and  Creed  ;  beside  him  his  broken  sword,  and 
at  his  feet  a  great  greyhound. 

The  difficulty  of  the  work  and  the  hardness  of 
the  Dalmatian  granite,  which  the  Princess  insisted 
en  having,  had  obliged  Vedrine  to  take  mallet  and 
chisel  himself  and  to  work  like  an  artisan  under  the 
tarpaulin  at  the  cemetery.  Now,  at  last,  after  much 
time  and  trouble,  the  canopy  was  up, '  and  that  young 
rascal,  Astier,  will  get  some  credit  from  it,'  added  the 
sculptor  with  a  smile  in  which  was  no  touch  of  bitter- 
ness. Then  he  lifted  up  an  old  carpet  hanging  over  a 
hole  in  the  wall,  which  had  once  been  a  door,  and  led 
Freydet  into  the  huge  ruined  hall  which  served  him 
for  a  studio,  roofed  with  planks  and  decorated  with 
mats  and  hangings. 

It  looked  with  all  its  litter  like  a  barn,  or  rather  a 
yard  under  cover,  for  in  a  sun-lit  corner  climbed  a 
fine  fig-tree  with  its  twining   branches  and   elegant 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  79 

leaves,  while  close  by  was  the  bulk  of  a  broken  stove, 
garlanded  with  ivy  and  honeysuckle,  so  as  to  resemble 
an  old  well.  Here  he  had  been  working  for  two 
years,  summer  and  winter,  in  spite  of  the  fogs  of  the 
neighbouring  river  and  the  bitter  cold  winds,  without 
a  single  sneeze  (his  own  expression),  having  the 
healthful  strength  of  the  great  artists  of  the  Renais- 
sance, as  well  as  their  large  mould  of  countenance 
and  fertile  imagination.  Now  he  was  as  weary  of 
sculpture  and  architecture  as  if  he  had  been  writing 
a  tragedy.  The  moment  his  statue  was  delivered 
and  paid  for,  wouldn't  he  be  off,  nursery  and  all,  for  a 
journey  up  the  Nile  in  a  dahabeeah,  and  paint  and 
paint  from  morning  to  night !  While  he  spoke  he 
moved  away  a  stool  and  a  bench,  and  led  his  friend 
up  to  a  huge  block  in  the  rough.  'There's  my 
warrior.  Frankly  now,  what  do  you  think  of 
him?' 

Freydet  was  somewhat  startled  and  amazed  at 
the  colossal  dimensions  of  the  sleeping  hero.  The 
scale  was  magnified  in  proportion  to  the  height  of 
the  canopy,  and  the  roughness  of  the  plaster  exag- 
gerated the  anatomical  emphasis  characteristic  of 
Ve'drine.  Rather  than  smooth  away  the  force,  he 
gives  his  work  an  unfinished  earthy  surface,  as  of 
something  still  in  the  rock.  But  as  the  spectator 
gazed  and  began  to   grasp,  the  huge  form  became 


80  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

nstinct  with  that  impressive  and  attractive  power 
which  is  the  essence  of  fine  art. 

'  Splendid  ! '  he  exclaimed,  with  the  tone  of  sin- 
cerity. The  other  winked  his  merry  little  eyes,  and 
said : 

'  Not  at  first  sight,  eh  ?  My  style  does  not  take 
till  you  are  accustomed  to  it ;  and  I  do  not  feel  sure 
of  the  Princess,  when  she  comes  to  look  at  this  ugly 
fellow.' 

Paul  Astier  was  to  bring  her  in  a  few  days,  as 
soon  as  it  had  been  rubbed  down  and  smoothed 
and  was  ready  to  go  to  the  foundry ;  and  the 
sculptor  looked  forward  to  the  visit  with  some  un- 
certainty, knowing  the  taste  of  great  ladies,  as  it  is 
displayed  in  the  stereotyped  chatter,  which  at  the 
Salon  on  five-shilling  days  runs  up  and  down  the 
picture-rooms,  and  breaks  out  round  the  sculpture. 
Oh,  what  hypocrisy  it  is !  The  only  genuine  thing 
about  them  is  the  spring  costume,  which  they  have 
provided  to  figure  on  this  particular  occasion. 

'And  altogether,  old  fellow,'  continued  V^drine, 
as  he  drew  his  friend  out  of  the  studio,  'of  all  the 
affectations  of  Paris,  of  all  the  hypocrisies  of  society, 
the  most  shameless,  the  most  amusing,  is  the  pre- 
tended taste  for  art.  It's  enough  to  make  you  die 
of  laughing  ;  everyone  performing  a  mummery,  which 
imposes  on  nobody.  And  music,  the  same !  You 
should  just  see  them  at  the  Pop  ! ' 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  8 1 

They  went  down  a  long  arcaded  passage,  full 
of  the  same  odd  vegetation,  sown  there  by  all  the 
winds  of  heaven,  breaking  out  in  green  from  the 
hard-beaten  ground,  and  peeping  among  the  paint- 
ings on  the  shrivelled  and  smoke-blackened  walls. 
Presently  they  came  to  the  principal  court,  formerly 
gravelled,  but  now  a  field,  in  which  were  mingled 
wild  grasses,  plantain,  pimpernel,  groundsel,  and 
myriads  of  tiny  stems  and  heads.  In  the  middle, 
fenced  off  with  boards,  was  a  bed  of  artichokes,  straw- 
berries, and  pumpkins,  looking  like  the  garden  of 
some  squatter  at  the  edge  of  a  virgin  forest ;  and, 
to  complete  the  illusion,  beside  it  was  a  little  building 
of  brick. 

'It's  the  bookbinder's  garden,  and  that  is  his 
shop,'  said  Vddrine,  pointing  to  a  board  over  the 
half-open  door,  displaying  in  letters  a  foot  long  the 
inscription, 

ALB  IN    FAGE, 

Bookbinding  in  all  its  branches. 

Fage  had  been  bookbinder  to  the  Cour  des 
Comptes  and  the  Conseil  d'Etat,  and  having  ob- 
tained leave  to  keep  his  lodge,  which  had  escaped 
the  fire,  was  now,  with  the  exception  of  the  caretaker, 
the  sole  tenant  of  the  building.  '  Let  us  go  in  for  a 
minute,'  said  Vedrine  ;  '  you  will  find  him  a  remark 

G 


82  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

able  specimen.'  He  went  nearer  and  called,  '  Fage ! 
Fage ! '  but  the  humble  workshop  was  empty.  In 
front  of  the  window  was  the  binder's  table,  on  which, 
among  a  heap  of  parings,  lay  his  shears.  Under 
a  press  were  some  green  ledgers  capped  with  copper. 
Strange  to  remark,  everything  in  the  room — the 
sewing-press,  the  tressel-table,  the  empty  chair  in 
front  of  it,  the  shelves  piled  with  books,  and  even 
the  shaving-mirror  hung  upon  the  latch — was  on  a 
diminutive  scale,  adapted  to  the  height  and  reach  of 
a  child  of  twelve  years  old.  It  might  have  been 
taken  for  the  house  of  a  dwarf,  or  of  a  bookbinder  of 
Lilliput. 

1  He  is  a  humpback,'  whispered  Vedrine  to  Frey- 
det,  '  and  a  lady's  man  into  the  bargain,  all  scent  and 
pomade.'  A  horrible  smell  like  a  hairdresser's  shop, 
otto  of  roses  and  macassar,  mingled  with  the  stifling 
fumes  of  glue.  Vedrine  called  once  more  in  the 
direction  of  the  back  of  the  shop  where  the  bed- 
room was  ;  then  they  left,  Freydet  chuckling  at  the 
idea  of  a  humpbacked  Lovelace. 

1  Perhaps  he's  at  a  tryst,'  he  said. 

'  You  are  pleased  to  laugh  ;  but,  my  dear  fellow, 
the  humpback  is  on  the  best  of  terms  with  all  the 
beauties  of  Paris,  if  one  may  believe  the  testimony 
of  his  bedroom  walls,  which  are  covered  with  photo- 
graphs bearing  the  owners'  names,  and  headed  "  To 


ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY'  83 

Albin,"  "To  my  dear  little  Fage."  There  is  never 
any  lady  to  be  seen  here,  but  he  sometimes  comes 
and  tells  me  about  his  fine  octavo,  or  his  pretty 
little  duodecimo,  as  he  calls  his  conquests,  according 
to  their  height  and  size.' 

'  And  he  is  ugly,  you  say  ? ' 

'  A  perfect  monster.' 

'  And  no  money  ? ' 

'A  poor  little  bookbinder  and  worker  in  card- 
board, living  on  his  work  and  his  bit  of  a  garden, 
but  very  intelligent  and  learned,  with  a  marvellous 
memory.  We  shall  probably  find  him  wandering 
about  in  some  corner  of  the  building.  He  is  a  great 
dreamer  is  little  Fage,  like  all  sentimentalists. — 
This  way,  but  look  where  you  step ;  there  are  some 
awkward  places.' 

They  were  going  up  a  huge  staircase,  of  which 
the  lower  steps  still  remained,  as  did  the  balustrade, 
rusty,  split,  and  in  places  twisted.  Then  suddenly 
they  turned  off  by  a  fragile  wooden  bridge,  resting 
on  the  supports  of  the  staircase,  between  high  walls 
on  which  were  dimly  visible  the  remains  of  huge 
frescoes,  cracked,  decayed,  and  blackened  with  soot, 
the  hind  legs  of  a  horse,  a  woman's  torso  undraped, 
with  inscriptions  almost  illegible  on  panels  that 
had  lost  their  gilding,  '  Meditation,' '  Silence,'  '  Trade 
uniting  the  nations  of  the  world.' 

82 


84  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

On  the  first  floor  a  long  gallery  with  a  vaulted 
roof,  as  in  the  amphitheatre  at  Aries  or  Nimes, 
stretched  away  between  smoke-stained  walls,  covered 
with  huge  fissures,  remains  of  plaster  and  iron  work, 
and  tangled  vegetation.  At  the  entrance  to  this 
passage  was  inscribed  on  the  wall,  '  Corridor  des 
Huissiers.'  On  the  next  floor  they  found  much  the 
same  thing,  only  that  here,  the  roof  having  given 
way,  the  gallery  was  nothing  but  a  long  terrace  of 
brambles  climbing  up  to  the  undestroyed  arcades 
and  falling  down  in  disordered  waving  festoons  to 
the  level  of  the  courtyard.  From  this  second  floor 
could  be  seen  the  roofs  of  the  neighbouring  houses, 
the  whitewashed  walls  of  the  barracks  in  the  Rue 
de  Poitiers,  and  the  tall  plane  trees  of  the  Padovani 
mansion,  with  the  rooks'  nests,  abandoned  till  the 
winter,  swinging  in  their  top  branches.  Below  was 
the  deserted  court  in  full  sunlight,  with  the  little 
garden  and  tiny  house  of  the  bookbinder. 

*  Just  look,  old  boy,  there's  a  good  lot  of  it  here,' 
said  Vedrine  to  his  friend,  pointing  to  the  wild 
exuberant  vegetation  of  every  species  which  ran  riot 
over  the  whole  building.  '  If  Crocodilus  saw  all  these 
weeds,  what  a  rage  he  would  be  in  ! '  Suddenly  he 
started,  and  said,  'Well,  I  never !' 

At  this  moment,  near  the  bookbinder's  house 
below,  came  into  sight  Astier-Rehu,  recognisable  by 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  85 

his  long  frock-coat  of  a  metallic  green  and  his  large 
wide  '  topper.'  Most  people  in  the  neighbourhood 
knew  this  hat,  which,  set  on  the  back  of  a  grey  curly 
head,  distinguished,  like  a  halo,  the  hierarch  of  eru- 
dition.    It  was  Crocodilus  himself! 

He  was  talking  earnestly  to  a  man  of  very  small 
stature,  whose  bare  head  shone  with  hair-oil,  and 
whose  tight-fitting,  light-coloured  coat  showed  in  all 
its  elegance  the  deformity  of  his  baclc  Their  words 
were  not  audible,  but  Astier  seemed  much  excited. 
He  brandished  his  stick  and  bent  himself  forward 
over  the  face  of  the  little  creature,  who  for  his  part 
was  perfectly  calm,  and  stood,  as  if  his  mind  was 
made  up,  with  his  two  large  hands  behind  him  folded 
under  his  hump. 

'  The  cripple  does  work  for  the  Institute,  does 
he?'  said  Freydet,  who  remembered  now  that  his 
master  had  uttered  the  name  of  Fage.  Vedrine  did 
not  answer.  He  was  watching  the  action  of  the  two 
men,  whose  conversation  at  this  moment  suddenly 
stopped,  the  humpback  going  into  his  house  with  a 
gesture  which  seemed  to  say,  '  As  you  please,'  while 
Astier  with  angry  strides  made  for  the  gate  of  the 
building  towards  the  Rue  de  Lille,  then  paused, 
turned  back  to  the  shop,  went  in,  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

*  It's  odd,'  muttered  the  sculptor.    ■  Why  did  Fage 


S6  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

never  tell  me?  What  a  mysterious  little  fellow  it 
is  !  But  I  dare  say  they  have  the  same  taste  for  the 
"  octavo  "  and  the  "  duodecimo  "  ! ' 

'  For  shame,  Vtjdrine ! ' 

The  visit  done,  Freydet  went  slowly  up  the  Quai 
d'Orsay,  thinking  about  his  book  and  his  aspirations 
towards  the  Academie,  which  had  received  a  severe 
shock  from  the  home  truths  he  had  been  hearing. 
How  like  the  man  is  to  the  boy!  How  soon  the 
character  is  in  its  essence  complete  !  After  an  interval 
of  twenty-five  years,  beneath  the  wrinkles  and  grey 
hairs  and  other  changes,  with  which  life  disguises  the 
outer  man,  the  schoolfellows  found  each  other  just 
what  they  were  when  they  sat  together  in  class  :  one 
wilful,  high-spirited,  rebellious  ;  the  other  obedient  and 
submissive,  with  a  tendency  to  indolence,  which  had 
been  fostered  by  his  quiet  country  life.  After  all 
V^drine  was  perhaps  right.  Even  if  he  was  sure  of 
succeeding,  was  the  thing  worth  the  trouble  ?  He  was 
particularly  anxious  about  his  invalid  sister,  who, 
while  he  went  about  canvassing,  must  be  left  all  alone 
at  Clos-Jallanges.  A  few  days'  absence  had  already 
made  her  feel  nervous  and  low,  and  the  morning's 
post  had  brought  a  miserable  letter. 

He  was  by  this  time  passing  before  the  dragoon 
barracks  ;  and  his  attention  was  caught  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  paupers,  waiting  on  the  other  side  of 


ONE  OF   THE  '  FORTY  '  &7 

the  street  for  the  distribution  of  the  remains  of  the 
soup.  They  had  come  long  before  for  fear  of  missing 
their  turn,  and  were  seated  on  the  benches  or  standing 
in  a  line  against  the  parapet  of  the  quay.  Foul  and 
grimy,  with  the  hair  and  beard  of  human  dogs,  and 
dressed  in  the  filthiest  rags,  they  waited  like  a  herd, 
neither  moving  nor  speaking  to  each  other,  but  peering 
into  the  great  barrack -yard  to  catch  the  arrival  of  the 
porringers  and  the  adjutant's  signal  to  come  up.  It 
was  horrible  to  see  in  the  brilliant  sunlight  the  silent 
row  of  savage  eyes  and  hungry  faces,  fixed  with  the 
same  animal  look  upon  the  wide-open  gate. 

'  What  are  you  doing  there,  my  dear  boy  ?  '  said 
a  voice,  and  Astier-Rehu,  in  high  spirits,  took  his 
pupil's  arm.  The  poet  pointed  to  the  pathetic  group 
on  the  opposite  pavement.  '  Ah,  yes,'  said  the  his- 
torian, '  Ah,  yes.'  He  had  in  truth  no  eyes  for  any- 
thing outside  books,  nor  any  direct  and  personal  per- 
ception of  the  facts  of  life.  Indeed,  from  the  way  in 
which  he  took  Freydet  off,  saying  as  he  did  so,  '  You 
may  as  well  go  with  me  as  far  as  the  Institute,'  it  was 
clear  that  he  did  not  approve  the  habit  of  mooning 
in  the  streets  when  you  ought  to  be  better  employed. 
Leaning  gently  on  his  favourite's  arm,  he  began  to  tell 
him  of  his  rapturous  delight  at  having  chanced  upon 
a  most  astonishing  discovery,  a  letter  about  the  Aca- 
demie  from  the  Empress  Catherine  to  Diderot,  just 


88  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

in  time  for  his  forthcoming  address  to  the  Grand- 
Duke.  He  meant  to  read  the  letter  at  the  meeting 
and  perhaps  to  present  his  Highness,  in  the  name  of 
the  Society,  with  the  original  in  the  handwriting  of 
his  ancestress.  Baron  Huchenard  would  burst  with 
envy. 

1  And,  by  the  way,  about  my  Charles  the  Fifths, 
you  know !  It's  absolutely  false.  Here  is  something 
to  confute  the  old  backbiter,'  and  he  clapped  with  his 
thick  short  hand  a  heavy  leather  pocket-book.  He 
was  so  happy  that  he  tried  to  arouse  an  answering 
happiness  in  Freydet  by  leading  the  conversation  to 
the  topic  of  yesterday — his  candidature  for  the  first 
place  in  the  Acade'mie  that  should  be  vacant.  It 
would  be  delightful  when  the  master  and  the  scholar 
sat  together  under  the  dome !  '  And  you  will  find 
how  pleasant  it  is,  and  how  comfortable.  It  cannot 
be  imagined  till  you  are  there.'  The  moment  of 
entrance,  he  seemed  to  say,  put  an  end  to  the  miseries 
of  life.  At  that  threshold  they  might  beat  in  vain. 
You  soared  into  a  region  of  peace  and  light,  above 
envy,  above  criticism,  blessed  for  ever  !  All  was  won, 
and  nothing  left  to  desire.  Ah,  the  Academie! 
Those  who  spoke  ill  of  it  spoke  in  ignorance,  or  in 
jealousy,  because  they  could  not  get  in.  The  apes, 
the  dunces ! 

His  strong  voice  rose  till  it  made  everyone  turn 


ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY'  89 

as  he  went  along  the  quay.  Some  recognised  him 
and  mentioned  his  name.  The  booksellers  and  the 
vendors  of  engravings  and  curiosities,  standing  at 
their  stalls,  and  accustomed  to  see  him  go  by  at  his 
regular  hours,  stepped  back  and  bowed  respectfully. 

'  Freydet,  look  at  that,'  said  his  master,  pointing 
to  the  Palais  Mazarin,  to  which  they  had  now  come. 
'  There  it  is  !  There's  the  Institute  as  I  saw  it  on  the 
Didot  books  when  I  was  a  lad.  I  said  to  myself 
then,  "  I  will  get  into  that ; "  and  I  have  got  in. 
Now,  my  boy,  it  is  your  turn  to  use  your  will. 
Good  luck  to  you.'  He  stepped  briskly  in  at  the 
gate  to  the  left  of  the  main  building,  and  went  on 
into  a  series  of  large  paved  courts,  silent  and  majestic, 
his  figure  throwing  a  lengthening  shadow  upon  the 
ground. 

He  disappeared  ;  but  Freydet  was  gazing  still, 
struck  motionless.  And  on  his  kindly  round  brown 
face  and  in  his  soft,  full-orbed  eyes  was  the  same 
expression  as  had  been  on  the  visages  of  the  human 
dogs  who  waited  before  the  barracks  for  their  soup. 
Henceforward,  whenever  he  looked  at  the  Institute, 
that  expression  would  always  come  over  his  face. 


90  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY1 


CHAPTER  V. 

It  was  the  evening  of  a  great  dinner,  to  be  followed 
by  a  select  reception,  at  the  Padovani  mansion.  The 
Grand-Duke  Leopold  was  entertaining  at  the  table 
of  his  '  respected  friend,'  as  he  called  the  Duchess, 
some  members  selected  from  the  various  departments 
of  the  Institute,  and  so  making  his  return  to  the  five 
Academies  for  their  courteous  reception  of  him  and  for 
the  complimentary  harangue  of  the  President.  Diplo- 
matic society  was,  as  usual,  well  represented  at  the 
house  of  a  lady  whose  husband  had  been  Ambassador  ; 
but  the  Institute  had  the  chief  place,  and  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  guests  showed  the  object  of  the  dinner.  The 
Grand-Duke,  seated  opposite  the  hostess,  had  Madame 
Astier  on  his  right,  and  on  his  left  the  Countess  Foder, 
wife  of  the  First  Secretary  of  the  Finnish  Embassy, 
acting  as  Ambassador.  On  the  right  of  the  Duchess 
sat  Leonard  Astier,  and  on  her  left  Monsignor  Adriani, 
the  Papal  Nuncio.  Then  came  successively  Baron 
Huchenard,  representing  the  Inscriptions  et  Belles- 
Lettres  ;  Mourad  Bey,  the  Ambassador  of  the  Porte  ; 
Delpech  the  chemist,  Member  of  the  Academie  des 


ONE  OF  THE   'FORTY'  91 

Sciences  ;  the  Belgian  Minister;  Landry  the  musician, 
of  the  Beaux- Arts ;  Danjou  the  dramatist,  one  of 
Picheral's  '  Players  ' ;  and,  lastly,  the  Prince  d'Athis, 
whose  twofold  claims  to  distinction  as  diplomatist 
and  Member  of  the  Academie  dcs  Sciences  Morales 
et  Politiques  combined  the  characteristics  of  the  two 
sets  in  the  circle.  At  the  ends  of  the  table  were  the 
General  acting  as  Aide-de-camp  to  His  Highness, 
the  young  Count  Adriani,  nephew  of  the  Nuncio, 
and  Lavaux,  whose  presence  was  indispensable  at 
every  social  gathering. 

The  feminine  element  was  lacking  in  charm.  The 
Countess  Foder,  red-haired,  small,  and  lively,  en- 
veloped in  lace  to  the  tip  of  her  little  pointed  nose, 
looked  like  a  squirrel  with  a  cold  in  its  head.  Baroness 
Huchenard,  a  lady  of  no  particular  age  and  with  a 
moustache,  produced  the  effect  of  a  very  fat  old 
gentleman  in  a  low  dress.  Madame  Astier,  in  a  velvet 
dress  partly  open  at  the  neck,  a  present  from  the 
Duchess,  had  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  friendship 
the  pleasure  she  would  have  had  in  displaying  her 
arms  and  shoulders,  the  remains  of  her  beauty ;  and 
thanks  to  this  delicate  attention  the  Duchess  Pado- 
vani  looked  as  if  she  were  the  only  woman  at  dinner. 
The  Duchess  is  elegantly  dressed,  tall  and  fair,  with  a 
tiny  head  and  fine  eyes  of  a  golden  hazel  colour — ■ 
eyes  whose  shifting  haughty  glance,  from  under  long 


92  ©NE  OF   THE   '  FORTY  ' 

dark  brows  almost  meeting,  shows  their  power  of 
expressing  kindness,  affection,  or  anger.  Her  nose  is 
short,  her  mouth  emotional  and  sensitive,  and  her 
complexion  has  the  brilliancy  of  a  young  woman's, 
owing  to  her  custom  of  sleeping  in  the  afternoon 
when  she  is  going  out  in  the  evening  or  receiving 
friends  at  her  own  house.  A  long  residence  abroad 
at  Vienna,  St.  Petersburg,  and  Constantinople,  where 
as  the  wife  of  the  French  Ambassador  it  had  been 
her  duty  to  set  the  fashion  to  French  society,  has  left 
in  her  manners  a  certain  air  of  superior  information, 
which  the  ladies  of  Paris  find  it  hard  to  forgive. 
She  talks  graciously  to  them  as  though  they  were 
foreigners,  and  explains  things  to  them  which  they 
understand  as  well  as  she.  In  her  house  in  the  Rue 
de  Poitiers  the  Duchess  still  acts  as  though  repre- 
senting Paris  among  the  Kurds.  It  is  the  sole  defect 
of  this  noble  and  splendid  lady. 

Though  there  were,  so  to  speak,  no  women,  no 
bright  dresses  showing  arms  and  shoulders  and  break- 
ing the  monotony  of  black  coats  with  a  blaze  o 
jewels  and  flowers,  still  the  table  was  not  without 
colour.  There  was  the  violet  cassock  of  the  Nuncio 
with  his  broad  silk  sash,  the  purple  cJicchia  of  Mourad 
Bey,  and  the  red  tunic  of  the  Papal  Guard  with  its  gold 
collar,  blue  embroideries,  and  gold  braid  on  the  breast, 
decorated  also  with  the  huge  brilliant  cross  of  the 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  93 

Legion  of  Honour,  which  the  young  Italian  had  re- 
ceived that  very  morning,  the  President  thinking  it 
proper  to  reward  the  successful  delivery  of  the  Cardi- 
nal's hat.  Scattered  about,  too,  were  ribbons  green> 
blue,  and  red,  and  the  silvery  gleam  and  sparkling 
stars  of  decorations  and  orders. 

Ten  o'clock.  The  dinner  is  almost  over,  but  not 
one  of  the  flowers  elaborately  arranged  round  plates 
and  dishes  has  been  disturbed,  there  have  been  no 
raised  voices  or  animated  gestures.  Yet  the  fare  is 
excellent  at  the  Padovani  mansion,  one  of  the  few 
houses  in  Paris  where  they  still  have  wine.  The 
dinner  betrays  the  presence  in  the  house  of  an  epicure, 
and  the  epicure  is  not  the  Duchess,  who,  like  all 
leaders  of  French  fashion,  thinks  the  dinner  good  if 
she  has  on  a  becoming  dress  and  the  table  is  carefully 
and  tastefully  decorated.  No ;  the  epicure  is  the 
lady's  humble  servant,  the  Prince  d'Athis,  a  man  of 
cultivated  palate  and  fastidious  appetite,  spoilt  by  club 
cooking  and  not  to  be  satisfied  by  silver  plate  or  the 
sight  of  fine  liveries  and  irreproachable  white  calves. 
It  is  for  his  sake  that  the  fair  Antonia  admits  among 
her  occupations  the  care  of  the  menu,  it  is  for  him 
that  she  provides  highly  seasoned  dishes  and  fiery 
wines  of  Burgundy,  which  it  must  be  admitted  have 
not  on  this  particular  occasion  dispelled  the  coldness 
of  the  guests. 


94  ONE  OF   THE   «  FORTY ' 

At  dessert  there  is  the  same  deadness,  stiffness,  and 
restraint  that  marked  the  first  course  ;  hardly  has  a 
tinge  of  colour  touched  the  ladies'  cheeks  or  noses. 
It  is  a  dinner  of  wax  dolls,  official,  magnificent,  with 
the  magnificence  which  comes  chiefly  of  ample  room, 
lofty  ceilings,  and  seats  placed  so  far  apart  as  to 
preclude  all  friendly  touching  of  chairs.  A  gloomy 
chilly  underground  feeling  separates  the  guests,  in 
spite  of  the  soft  breath  of  the  June  night  floating  in 
from  the  gardens  through  the  half-open  shutters  and 
gently  swelling  the  silk  blinds.  The  conversation  is 
distant  and  constrained,  the  lips  scarcely  move  and 
have  an  unmeaning  smile.  Not  a  remark  is  real,  not 
one  makes  its  way  to  the  mind  of  the  hearer ;  they 
are  as  perfectly  artificial  as  the  sweetmeats  among 
which  they  are  dropped.  The  speeches,  like  the  faces, 
are  masked,  and  it  is  lucky  they  are,  for  if  at  this 
moment  the  mask  were  to  be  taken  off,  and  the  true 
thoughts  disclosed,  how  dismayed  the  noble  company 
would  be ! 

The  Grand -Duke,  who  has  a  broad  pale  face 
framed  by  extra-black  trim  round  whiskers,  just  such 
a  royal  personage  as  you  see  in  an  illustrated  paper, 
is  questioning  Baron  Huchenard  with  much  interest 
about  his  recent  book,  and  thinking  to  himself:  'Oh 
dear,  how  this  learned  gentleman  does  bore  me  with 
his  primitive  dwellings !      How  much   better   off  I 


ONE   OF   THE   '  FORTY '  95 

should  be  at  Roxelane,  where  sweet  little  Dda  is  danc- 
ing in  the  ballet !  The  author  of  Roxelane  is  here,  I 
understand,  but  he  is  a  middle-aged  man,  very  ugly 
and  very  dull.  And  to  think  of  the  ankles  of  little 
Dea!' 

The  Nuncio,  who  has  an  intellectual  face  of  the 
Roman  type,  large  nose,  thin  lips,  black  eyes  and 
sallow  complexion,  has  leant  on  one  side  to  listen  to 
the  history  of  the  habitations  of  Man.  He  is  looking 
at  his  nails,  which  shine  like  shells,  and  is  thinking : 
'  At  the  Embassy  this  morning  I  ate  a  delicious 
misto  fritto,  and  I  haven't  got  rid  of  it.  Gioachimo 
has  pulled  my  sash  too  tight ;  I  wish  I  could  get 
away  from  the  table.' 

The  Turkish  Ambassador,  thick-lipped,  yellow, 
and  coarse,  with  his  fez  over  his  eyes  and  a  poke  in 
his  neck,  is  filling  the  glass  of  Baroness  Huchenard 
and  saying,  '  How  disgusting  in  these  Westerns  to 
bring  their  women  into  society,  when  they  are  as 
dilapidated  as  this !  I  had  rather  be  impaled  right 
off  than  exhibit  that  fat  creature  as  my  wife.'  The 
Baroness  is  thanking  His  Excellency  with  a  mincing 
smile,  which  covers  the  thought  'This  Turk  is  a 
revolting  beast.' 

Nor  are  Madame  Astier's  spoken  thoughts  any 
more  in  harmony  with  her  internal  reflections :  '  I 
only  hope    Paul    will    not  have  forgotten  to  go   for 


96  ONE  OF  THE   'FORTY' 

grandpapa.  It  will  be  an  effective  scene  when  the 
old  man  comes  in,  supported  on  the  arm  of  his  great- 
grandson.  Perhaps  we  may  get  an  order  out  of  His 
Highness.'  Then,  as  she  looks  affectionately  at  the 
Duchess,  she  thinks  :  '  She  is  looking  very  handsome 
this  evening.  Some  good  news  no  doubt  about  the 
promised  Embassy.  Make  the  best  of  your  time,  my 
dear  ;  in  a  month  Sammy  will  be  married.' 

Madame  Astier  is  not  mistaken.  The  Grand- 
Duke  on  arriving  announced  to  his  '  respected  friend ' 
the  President's  promise  to  appoint  D'Athis  within  the 
next  few  days.  The  Duchess  is  filled  with  a  repressed 
delight,  which  shines  through  as  it  were,  and  gives 
her  a  marvellous  brilliance.  To  this  height  she  has 
raised  the  man  of  her  choice  !  And  already  she  is 
making  plans  for  removing  her  own  establishment  to 
St.  Petersburg,  to  a  mansion  not  too  far  from  the 
Embassy  ;  while  the  Prince,  with  his  pale  sunk  cheeks 
and  rapt  look — the  look  whose  penetration  Bismarck 
could  never  sustain — checks  upon  his  contemptuous 
lips  the  smile  at  once  mysterious  and  dogmatic,  com- 
pounded of  diplomacy  and  learning,  and  thinks  to 
himself:  '  Now  Colette  must  make  up  her  mind.  She 
could  come  out  there,  we  could  be  married  quietly 
at  the  Chapelle  des  Pages,  and  all  would  be  done  and 
past  recall  before  the  Duchess  heard  of  it.' 

And  thus  many  a  reflection  ludicrously  inappro- 


ONE  OF   THE   «  FORTY  r  97 

priate  to  the  occasion  passes  from  guest  to  guest 
under  the  same  safe  wrapper.  Here  you  have  the 
pleased  beatitude  of  Leonard  Astier,  who  has  this 
very  morning  received  the  order  of  Stanislas  (second 
class),  as  a  return  for  presenting  to  His  Highness  a 
copy  of  his  speech  with  the  autograph  letter  of 
Catherine  pinned  to  the  first  page  and  very  ingeni- 
ously worked  into  the  complimentary  address.  This 
letter  was  the  great  thing  at  the  meeting,  had  been 
mentioned  in  the  papers  two  days  running,  and  heard 
of  all  over  Europe,  giving  to  the  name  of  Astier,  to 
his  collection,  and  to  his  work,  that  astounding  and 
disproportionate  echo  with  which  the  Press  now  mul- 
tiplies any  passing  event.  Now  Baron  Huchenard 
might  do  his  best  to  bite,  might  mumble  as  he  pleased 
in  his  insinuating  tones,  '  I  ask  you,  my  dear  colleague, 
to  observe.'  But  no  one  would  listen.  And  the  '  first 
collector  in  France '  was  perfectly  aware  of  it.  See 
what  a  savage  look  he  casts  at  his  dear  colleague  in 
the  pauses  of  his  scientific  harangue !  What  venom 
is  in  every  deeply  graven  hollow  of  his  porous,  pumice- 
stone  face ! 

Handsome  Danjou  is  also  furious,  but  for  other 
reasons  than  the  Baron.  The  Duchess  has  not  asked 
his  wife.  The  exclusion  is  painful  to  his  feelings  as 
a  husband,  a  part  of  a  man  no  less  sensitive  than 
the  original  ego  ;    and  in  spite  of  his  wish  to  shine 

II 


98  ONE   OF   THE   *  FORTY  ' 

before  the  Grand-Duke,  the  witticisms  as  good  as 
new,  which  he  was  prepared  with,  will  not  go  off. 
Another  who  does  not  feel  comfortable  is  Delpech 
the  chemist,  whom  His  Highness,  when  he  was  pre- 
sented, congratulated  on  his  interpretation  of  the 
cuneiform  character,  confounding  him  with  his  col- 
league of  the  Academie  des  Inscriptions.  It  should 
be  said  that,  with  the  exception  of  Danjou,  whose 
comedies  are  popular  abroad,  the  Grand-Duke  has 
never  heard  of  any  of  the  Academic  celebrities  intro- 
duced to  him  at  this  dinner.  Lavaux  this  very 
morning,  in  concert  with  the  Aide-de-camp,  arranged 
a  set  of  cards  bearing  each  the  name  of  a  guest  with 
the  titles  of  his  principal  works.  The  fact  that  His 
Highness  did  not  get  more  confused  among  the  list 
than  he  did  proves  much  presence  of  mind  and  an 
Imperial  memory.  But  the  evening  is  not  over,  and 
other  stars  of  learning  are  about  to  appear.  Already 
may  be  heard  the  muffled  rolling  of  wheels  and  the 
slamming  of  carriages  putting  down  at  the  door. 
The  Prince  will  have  more  chances  yet. 

Meanwhile,  in  a  weak,  slow  voice,  seeking  for 
words  and  losing  half  of  them  in  his  nose,  His  High- 
ness is  discussing  with  Astier  Rehu  a  point  of  history 
suggested  by  the  letter  of  Catherine  II.  The  ewers 
have  long  completed  the  round,  no  one  is  eating  or 
drinking  any  more,  no  one  is  even  breathing,  for  fear 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  99 

of  interrupting  the  conversation  ;  all  the  company- 
are  in  a  hypnotic  trance,  and — a  remarkable  effect 
of  levitation  — are  literally  hanging  upon  the  Im- 
perial lips.  Suddenly  the  august  nose  is  silent,  and 
Leonard  Astier,  who  has  made  a  show  of  resistance 
in  order  to  improve  the  effect  of  his  opponent's 
victory,  throws  up  his  arms  like  broken  foils  and  says 
with  an  air  of  surrender,  *  Ah,  Your  Highness  has 
mated  me ! '  The  charm  is  broken,  the  company 
feel  the  ground  under  them  again,  everyone  rises  in 
a  slight  flutter  of  applause,  the  doors  are  thrown 
open,  the  Duchess  takes  the  arm  of  the  Grand- 
Duke,  Mourad  Bey  that  of  the  Baroness,  and  while, 
with  a  sound  of  sweeping  dresses  and  chairs  pushed 
Lack,  the  assembly  files  out,  Firmin,  the  maitre 
dhotel,  solemn  and  dignified,  is  privately  doing  a 
sum.  ' In  any  other  house  this  dinner  would  have 
been  worth  to  me  forty  pounds  :  with  her,  I'll 
warrant,  it  won't  be  a  dozen  ; '  to  which  he  adds 
aloud,  as  if  he  would  spit  his  anger  upon  Her  Grace's 
train,  '  Grr  !  you  hag  ! ' 

'With  Your  Highness's  permission— my  grand- 
father, M.  Jean  Rehu,  the  oldest  member  in  the  whole 
Institute.' 

The  high  notes  of  Madame  Astier's  voice  ring  in 
the  great  drawing-room,  not  nearly  filled,  though  the 
guests  invited  to  the  reception  have  already  arrived. 

H  2 


IOO  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

She  speaks  very  loud  to  make  grandpapa  understand 
to  whom  he  is  being  introduced  and  answer  accor- 
dingly. Old  Rehu  looks  grand,  drawing  up  his  tall 
figure  and  still  carrying  high  his  little  Creole  face 
darkened  and  cracked  with  age.  Paul,  graceful  and 
pleasing,  supports  him  on  one  side,  his  grand- 
daughter on  the  other  ;  Astier-Rehu  is  behind.  The 
family  makes  a  sentimental  group  in  the  style  of 
Greuze.  It  would  look  well  on  one  of  the  pale- 
coloured  tapestries  with  which  the  room  is  decorated, 
tapestries — a  strange  thing  to  think  of— scarcely 
older  than  Rehu  himself.  The  Grand-Duke,  much 
affected,  tries  to  say  something  happy,  but  the  author 
of  the  Letters  to  Urania  is  not  upon  his  cards.  He 
gets  out  of  it  by  a  few  vague  complimentary  phrases, 
in  answer  to  which  old  Rehu,  supposing  that  he  is 
being  asked  as  usual  about  his  age,  says,  '  Ninety- 
eight  years  in  a  fortnight,  Sir.'  His  next  attempt 
does  not  fit  much  better  with  His  Highness's  gra- 
cious congratulations.  'Not  since  1803,  Sir;  the 
town  must  be  much  changed.'  During  the  progress 
of  this  singular  dialogue,  Paul  is  whispering  to  his 
mother,  '  You  may  see  him  home  if  you  like  ;  I  won't 
have  anything  more  to  do  with  him  ;  he's  in  an  awful 
temper.  In  the  carriage  he  was  kicking  me  all  the 
time  in  the  legs,  to  work  off  his  fidgets,  he  said.' 
The  young  man  himself  had  an  unpleasant  ring  in 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  IOI 

his  voice  this  evening,  and  in  his  charming  face 
something  set  and  hard,  which  his  mother  knew 
well,  and  noticed  immediately  on  coming  into  the 
room.  What  is  the  matter?  She  watched  him, 
trying  to  read  the  meaning  in  his  light  eyes,  which, 
however,  harder  and  keener  than  usual,  revealed 
nothing. 

But  the  chill,  the  ceremonious  chill,  prevailed  here 
no  less  than  at  the  dinner-table.  The  guests  kept 
apart  in  groups,  the  few  ladies  in  a  circle  upon  low 
chairs,  the  gentlemen  standing  or  walking  about  with 
a  pretence  of  serious  conversation,  but  obviously 
engaged  in  attracting  His  Highness's  attention.  It 
was  for  His  Highness  that  Landry  the  musician 
stood  pensive  by  the  chimney-piece,  gazing  upward 
with  his  inspired  brow  and  his  apostolic  beard  ;  for 
him  that  on  the  other  side  Delpech  the  chemist 
stood  meditative  with  his  chin  upon  his  hand, 
poring  intently  with  gathered  brows  as  if  watching 
the  precipitation  of  a  compound. 

Laniboire  the  philosopher,  famous  for  his  likeness 
to  Pascal,  was  wandering  round,  perpetually  passing 
before  the  sofa,  where,  unable  to  escape  from  Jean 
Rehu,  sat  the  Prince.  The  hostess  had  forgotten 
to  present  him,  and  his  fine  nose  looked  longer  than 
usual  and  seemed  to  be  making  a  desperate  appeal : 
•  Cannot  you  see  that  this  is  the  nose  of  Pascal  ? 


102  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY' 

At  the  same  sofa  Madame  Eviza  was  shooting  be- 
tween her  scarcely  parted  eyelids  a  look  which  asked 
His  Highness  to  name  his  own  price  if  he  would  but 
be  seen  at  her  reception  next  Monday.  Ah  !  change 
the  scene  as  you  will,  it  is  always  the  same  perform- 
ance—pretension, meanness,  readiness  to  bow  down, 
the  courtier's  appetite  for  self-humiliation  and  self- 
abasement.  We  need  not  decline  the  visits  of 
majesty;  we  are  provided  with  all  the  properties 
required  for  the  occasion. 
'  General.' 

I  Your  Highness.' 

I I  shall  never  be  in  time  for  the  ballet.' 
'  But  why  are  we  staying,  Sir  ? ' 

1 1  don't  know  ;  there's  to  be  a  surprise  when  the 
Nuncio  is  gone.' 

While  these  few  words  passed  in  an  undertone 
between  the  pair,  they  neither  looked  at  each  other 
nor  changed  a  muscle  of  their  ceremonial  counte- 
nances. The  Aide-de-camp  had  copied  from  his 
master  the  nasal  intonation,  the  absence  of  gesture, 
the  fixed  attitude  on  the  edge  of  the  seat  with 
the  bowed  arm  against  the  side.  He  was  rigid  as 
on  parade  or  in  the  Imperial  box  at  the  Theatre 
Michel.  Old  Re^hu  stood  before  them,  he  would 
not  sit  down  ;  he  was  still  talking,  still  exhibiting 
the  dusty  stores  of  his  memory,  the  people  he  bad 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  IO3 

known,  the  many  fashions  in  which  he  had  dressed. 
The  more  distant  the  time,  the  clearer  his  recollec- 
tion. '  That  is  a  thing  I  have  seen,'  says  he,  as  he 
pauses  at  the  end  of  a  story,  with  his  eyes  fixed,  as 
it  were,  upon  the  flying  past,  and  then  off  upon  a 
fresh  subject.  He  had  been  with  Talma  at  Brunoy, 
he  had  been  in  the  drawing-room  of  Josephine,  full 
of  musical  boxes  and  artificial  humming-birds  covered 
with  jewels,  which  sang  and  clapped  their  wings. 

Out  of  doors  on  the  terrace,  in  the  warm  dark- 
ness of  the  garden,  was  heard  low  conversation 
and  stifled  laughter,  coming  from  the  place  where 
the  cigars  were  visible  as  a  ring  of  red  dots.  Lavaux 
was  amusing  himself  by  getting  the  young  Guards- 
man to  tell  Danjou  and  Paul  Astier  the  story  of  the 
Cardinal's  hat.  '  And  the  lady,  Count — the  lady  at 
the  station.'  '  Cristo,  qu'elle  etait  bella ! '  said  the 
Italian  in  a  low  voice,  and  added  correctively,  '  sim- 
patica,  surtout,  simpatica.'  Charming  and  respon- 
sive— this  was  his  general  idea  of  the  ladies  of  Paris. 
He  only  wished  he  need  not  go  back.  The  French 
wine  had  loosed  his  tongue,  and  he  began  describing 
his  life  in  the  Guards,  the  advantages  of  the  profes- 
sion, the  hope  which  they  all  had  on  entering  it  that 
they  might  find  a  rich  wife — that  at  one  of  His 
Holiness's  audiences  they  would  dazzle  some  wealthy 
English  Catholic  or  a  fanatical  Spaniard  from  South 


104  ONE  0F   THE   'FORTY* 

America  come  to  bring  her  offering  to  the  Vatican. 
'  L'ouniforme  est  zouli,  compre'nez  ;  et  pouis  les  en- 
fortounes  del  Saint  Pere,  cela  nous  donne  a  nous 
autres  ses  soldats  oun  prestigio  roumanesque,  cava- 
leresque,  qualque  sose  qui  plait  aux  dames  zenerale- 
mente.'  It  must  be  allowed  that  with  his  youthful 
manly  face,  his  gold  braid  shining  softly  in  the  moon- 
light, and  his  white  leather  breeches,  he  did  recall 
the  heroes  of  Ariosto  or  Tasso. 

'  Well,  my  dear  Pepino,'  said  fat  Lavaux,  in  his 
mocking  and  disagreeable  tone,  '  if  you  want  a  good 
match,  here  it  is  at  your  elbow.' 

'  How  so  ?     Where  ? ' 

Paul  Astier  started  and  became  attentive.  The 
mention  of  a  good  match  always  made  him  fear  that 
some  one  was  stealing  his. 

'  The  Duchess,  of  course.  Old  Padovani  can't 
stand  another  stroke.' 

'  But  the  Prince  d'Athis  ? ' 

'  He'll  never  marry  her.' 

Lavaux  was  a  good  authority,  being  the  friend  of 
the  Prince,  and  of  the  Duchess,  too,  for  that  matter ; 
though,  seeing  that  the  establishment  must  shortly 
split,  he  stood  on  the  side  which  he  thought  the 
safest.  '  Go  in  boldly,  my  dear  Count ;  there's 
money,  lots  of  it,  and  a  fine  connection,  and  a  lady 
still  well  enough/ 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY'  I05 

1  Cristo,  qu'elle  est  bella ! '  said  the  Italian,  with  a 
sigh. 

'E  simpatica,'  said  Danjou,  with  a  sneer.  At 
which  the  Guardsman  after  a  moment's  amazement, 
delighted  to  find  an  Academician  with  so  much  per- 
ception, exclaimed  :  '  SI,  simpatica,  precisamente  ! ' 

'  And  then,'  continued  Lavaux,  'if  you  are  fond  of 
dyes,  and  enamel,  and  padding,  you'll  get  it.  I 
believe  she's  a  marvel  of  construction,  the  best  cus- 
tomer that  Charriere  has.' 

He  spoke  out  loud  and  quite  freely,  right  in  front 
of  the  dining-room.  The  garden  door  was  slightly 
open,  and  through  the  crack  the  light  fell  upon  the 
broad  red  impudent  face  of  the  parasite,  and  the 
warm  air  floated  laden  with  the  rich  smell  of  the 
dinner  which  he  had  eaten  and  was  repaying  in  mean 
dirty  slanders.  There's  for  your  truffes  farcies ; 
there's  for  your  gelinottes,  and  your  '  didteaux'  at 
fifteen  shillings  a  glass !  Danjou  and  he  have  got 
together  on  purpose  to  play  this  popular  game  of 
running-down  ;  and  a  great  deal  they  know  and  a 
great  deal  they  tell.  Lavaux  serves  the  ball  and 
Danjou  returns.  And  the  simple  Guardsman,  not 
knowing  how  much  to  believe,  tries  to  laugh,  with  a 
horrid  fear  lest  the  Duchess  should  catch  them,  and 
is  much  relieved  when  he  hears  his  uncle  calling  him 
from  the  other  end  of  the  terrace.     The  Papal  Em- 


106  ONE  OF  THE  '  FORTY  ' 

bassy  shuts  up  early,  and  since  his  little  misfortune 
he  has  been  kept  strictly  to  hours. 

'  Good  night,  gentlemen.' 

•  Good  luck  to  you,  young  man.' 

The  Nuncio  is  gone ;  now  for  the  surprise.  At 
a  signal  from  the  Duchess,  the  author  of  Roxelane 
took  his  place  at  the  piano  and  swept  his  beard  over 
the  keys  as  he  struck  two  penetrating  chords.  Im- 
mediately at  the  far  end  of  the  rooms  the  curtains 
were  drawn  from  the  door,  and  down  the  vista  of 
brilliant  apartments,  tripping  along  on  the  tips  of  her 
little  gilt  slippers,  came  a  charming  brunette  in  the 
close  bodice  and  puffed  skirts  of  the  ballet,  conducted 
at  arm's-length  by  a  gloomy  person  with  hair  in  rolls 
and  a  cadaverous  countenance  divided  by  a  dead 
black  moustache.  It  is  Dea !  Dea,  the  folly  of  the 
hour,  the  fashionable  toy,  accompanied  by  her  in- 
structor, Valere,  the  ballet-master  at  the  opera. 
Roxelane  was  taken  first  this  evening ;  and  the  girl, 
warm  from  her  triumphant  performance,  had  come  to 
give  her  dance  again  for  the  benefit  of  the  Duchess's 
Imperial  guest.  A  more  delightful  surprise  his  re- 
spected friend  could  not  have  devised.  What  more 
exquisite  than  to  have  all  to  yourself,  close  to  your- 
self, and  within  an  inch  of  your  face,  the  pretty  whirl 
of  muslin  and  the  panting  of  the  fresh  young  breath, 
and  to  hear  the  sinews  of  the  little  creature  strain 


ONE  OF  THE  «  FORTY  '  107 

like  the  sheets  of  a  sail  !  His  Highness  was  not 
alone  in  this  opinion.  The  moment  the  dance  began 
the  men  drew  together,  selfishly  making  a  close  ring 
of  black  coats  and  leaving  the  few  ladies  present  to 
see  what  they  could  from  outside.  Even  the  Grand- 
Duke  is  hustled  and  shoved  in  the  press :  for  as  the 
dance  quickens  the  circle  narrows,  till  there  is  scarcely 
room  for  the  movement.  Men  of  letters  and  of  poli- 
tics, breathing  hard,  thrust  their  heads  forward,  while 
their  decorations  swing  like  cow-bells,  and  grinning 
from  ear  to  ear  show  their  watery  lips  and  toothless 
jaws  with  grotesque  animal  cachinnations.  Even  the 
Prince  d'Athis  stoops  with  less  contempt  for  hu- 
manity, as  he  gazes  upon  this  marvel  of  youth  and 
fairy  grace,  who  with  the  tips  of  her  toes  takes  off  the 
masks  of  convention  ;  and  the  Turk,  Mourad  Bey, 
who  has  sat  the  whole  evening  without  a  word  in  the 
depths  of  an  armchair,  is  now  gesticulating  in  the 
front  row  with  open  nostrils  and  staring  eyes.  In  the 
midst  of  the  wild  shouts  of  applause  the  girl  springs 
and  leaps  with  so  harmonious  a  concealment  of  the 
muscular  working  of  her  frame,  that  her  dance  might 
seem  as  easy  as  the  hovering  of  a  dragon-fly,  but  for 
the  few  drops  on  her  firm  rounded  neck  and  the 
smile,  forced,  tense,  and  almost  painful,  at  the  corner 
of  her  mouth,  which  betray  the  exhausting  effort  of 
the  exquisite  little  creature. 


108  ONE   OF  THE   'FORTY' 

Paul  Astier,  who  did  not  care  for  dancing,  had 
stayed  on  the  terrace  to  smoke.  The  applause  and 
the  thin  sounds  of  the  piano,  audible  in  the  distance, 
made  an  accompaniment  to  his  reflections,  which  took 
shape  little  by  little,  even  as  his  outward  eyes,  growing 
accustomed  to  the  dark,  made  out  by  degrees  in  the 
garden  the  trunks  of  the  trees  and  their  quivering 
leaves,  and  far  away  at  the  end  the  delicate  tracery  of 
an  old-fashioned  trellis  against  the  wall.  It  was  so 
hard  to  succeed  ;  one  must  hold  on  so  long  to  reach 
the  desired  point,  always  close  at  hand  and  always 
receding.  Why  was  it  that  Colette  seemed  every 
moment  on  the  point  of  falling  into  his  arms,  and  yet 
when  he  went  back  he  had  to  begin  again  from  the 
beginning  ?  It  looked  as  if  in  his  absence  some  one 
for  amusement  pulled  down  his  work.  Who  was  it  ? 
It  was  that  dead  fellow,  confound  him  !  He  ought  to 
be  at  her  side  from  morning  to  night ;  but  how  could 
he,  with  the  perpetual  necessity  of  running  after 
money  ? 

There  came  a  light  step,  a  soft  sound  of  velvet. 
It  was  his  mother  looking  for  him.  Why  did  he  not 
come  into  the  drawing-room  with  all  the  rest  ?  She 
leaned  over  the  balustrade  beside  him  and  wanted  to 
know  what  he  was  thinking  about. 

'  Oh,  nothing,  nothing.'  But  further  pressed  he 
came  out  with  it.     Well,  the  fact  was — the  fact  was 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  IO9 

— that  he  had  had  enough  of  starving.  Dun,  dun, 
dun.  One  hole  stopped  and  another  opened.  He 
would  not  stand  any  more  of  it,  so  there  ! 

From  the  drawing-room  came  loud  exclamations 
and  wild  laughter,  together  with  the  expressionless 
voice  of  Valere,  directing  the  dancer  in  the  imitation 
of  an  old-fashioned  ballet  figure. 

'  How  much  do  you  want  ?'  whispered  the  mother 
trembling.     She  had  never  seen  him  like  this  before. 

'  No,  it's  no  use  ;  it's  more  than  you  could  possibly 
manage.' 

'  How  much?'  she  asked  again. 

1  Eight  hundred.'  And  the  agent  must  have  it  to- 
morrow by  five  o'clock,  or  else  he  would  take  posses- 
sion. There  would  be  a  sale  and  all  sorts  of  horrors. 
Sooner  than  that — and  here  he  ground  his  cigar  be- 
tween his  teeth  as  he  said  the  last  words — '  better 
make  a  hole  in  my  frontispiece.' 

The  mother  had  heard  enough.  'Hush!  hush!' 
she  said.  'By  five  o'clock  to-morrow?  Hush!'  And 
she  flung  herself  upon  him,  and  she  pressed  her  hands 
in  agony  upon  his  lips,  as  if  .she  would  arrest  there 
the  appalling  sentence  of  death. 


110  ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY* 


CHAPTER  VI. 

That  night  she  could  not  sleep.  Eight  hundred 
pounds !  eight  hundred  pounds  !  The  words  went  to 
and  fro  in  her  head.  Where  were  they  to  be  found  ? 
To  whom  could  she  apply  ?  There  was  so  little  time. 
Names  and  faces  flashed  before  her,  passing  for  a 
moment  where  the  pale  gleam  of  the  night-light  fell  on 
the  ceiling,  only  to  disappear  and  be  replaced  by  other 
names  and  other  faces,  which  vanished  as  quickly  in 
their  turn.  Freydet  ?  She  had  just  made  use  of  him. 
Sammy  ?  Had  nothing  till  he  married.  Besides,  did 
anybody  do  such  a  thing  as  to  borrow  or  lend  eight 
hundred  pounds?  No  one  but  a  poet  from  the 
country.  In  Parisian  society  money  never  appears 
on  the  scene  ;  it  is  assumed  that  you  have  it  and 
are  above  these  details,  like  the  people  in  genteel 
comedy.  A  breach  of  this  convention  would  banish 
the  transgressor  from  respectable  company. 

And  while  Madame  Astier  pursued  her  feverish 
thoughts  she  saw  beside  her  the  round  back  of  her 
husband  rising  and  falling  peacefully.  It  was  one  of 
the  depressing  incidents  of  their  joint  life  that  they 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  III 

had  lain  thus  side  by  side  for  thirty  years,  having 
nothing  in  common  but  the  bed.  But  never  had  the 
isolation  of  her  surly  bedfellow  so  strongly  aroused 
her  indignation.  What  was  the  use  of  waking  him, 
of  talking  to  him  about  the  boy  and  his  desperate 
threat  ?  She  knew  perfectly  well  that  he  would  not 
believe  her,  nor  so  much  as  move  the  big  back  which 
protected  his  repose.  She  was  inclined  for  a  minute 
to  fall  upon  him,  to  pummel  him,  and  scratch  him, 
and  rouse  him  out  of  his  selfish  slumbers  by  shouting 
in  his  ear  :  '  Leonard,  your  papers  are  on  fire  !'  And 
as  the  thought  of  the  papers  flashed  madly  across 
her  mind  she  almost  leaped  out  of  bed.  She  had 
got  her  eight  hundred  !  The  drawers  upstairs  ! 
How  was  it  she  had  not  thought  of  them  before  ? 
There  she  lay,  till  day  dawned  and  the  night-light 
went  out  with  a  sputter,  content  and  motionless, 
arranging  what  she  should  do,  with  the  look  of  a 
thief  in  her  open  eyes. 

Before  the  usual  hour  she  was  dressed,  and  all 
the  morning  prowled  about  the  rooms,  watching  her 
husband.  He  talked  of  going  out,  but  changed  his 
mind,  and  went  on  with  his  sorting  till  breakfast. 
Between  his  study  and  the  attic  he  went  to  and  fro 
with  armfuls  of  pamphlets,  humming  a  careless  tune. 
He  had  not  feeling  enough  to  perceive  the  con- 
strained  agitation    which    surcharged    the   air   with 


112  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

nervous  electricity  and  played  among  the  furniture 
in  the  cupboards,  and  upon  the  handles  of  the  doors. 
He  worked  on  undisturbed.  At  table  he  was  talka- 
tive, told  idiotic  stories,  which  she  knew  by  heart,  in- 
terminable as  the  process  of  crumbling  with  his  knife 
his  favourite  cheese.  Piece  after  piece  of  cheese  he 
took,  and  still  one  anecdote  followed  another.  And 
when  the  time  came  for  going  to  the  Institute,  where 
the  Dictionary  Committee  was  to  sit  before  the 
regular  meeting,  how  long  he  took  to  start !  and  in 
spite  of  her  eagerness  to  get  him  off  quick,  what  an 
age  he  spent  over  every  little  thing  ! 

The  moment  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  street, 
without  waiting  to  shut  the  window,  she  darted  to 
the  serving-hatch,  crying,  '  Corentine,  call  a  cab, 
quick ! '  He  was  gone  at  last,  and  she  flew  up  the 
little  staircase  to  the  attic. 

Crouching  down  to  keep  clear  of  the  low  ceiling 
she  began  to  try  a  bunch  of  keys  in  the  lock  which 
fastened  the  bar  of  the  drawers.  She  could  not  fit  it. 
She  could  not  wait.  She  would  have  forced  away, 
without  scruple,  a  side  of  the  frame,  but  her  fingers 
gave  way  and  her  nails  broke.  She  wanted  something 
to  prise  with.  She  opened  the  drawer  of  the  card- 
table :  and  there  lay  three  yellow  scrawls.  They 
were  the  very  things  she  was  looking  for — the  letters 
of  Charles  V.!     Such  miracles  do  happen  sometimes! 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY*  113 

She  bent  down  to  the  low-arched  window  to  make 
sure,  and  read :  '  Francois  Rabelais,  maitre  en  toutes 
sciences  et  bonnes  lettres.'  Enough !  She  started 
up,  hitting  her  head  hard  as  she  did  so,  and  was  not 
aware  of  it  till  she  was  in  the  cab  and  on  her  way  to 
the  shop  of  the  famous  Bos  in  the  Rue  de  l'Abbaye. 

She  got  down  at  the  corner  of  the  street.  It 
is  a  short  quiet  street,  overshadowed  by  St.  Ger- 
main des  Pres  and  by  the  old  red  brick  buildings  of 
the  School  of  Surgery.  A  few  of  the  surgeons'  car- 
riages, professional  broughams  with  splendid  liveries, 
were  in  waiting.  Scarcely  anyone  was  about.  Pigeons 
were  feeding  on  the  pavement,  and  flew  away  as  she 
came  to  the  shop  opposite  the  school.  It  offers  both 
books  and  curiosities,  and  exhibits  an  archaic  inscrip- 
tion, highly  appropriate  to  such  a  nook  of  Old  Paris : 
*  Bos  :  Antiquary  and  Palaeographer.' 

The  shop-front  displayed  something  of  all  sorts  : 
old  manuscripts,  ancient  ledgers  with  mould  spots 
on  the  edges,  missals  with  damaged  gilding,  book- 
clasps  and  book-covers.  To  the  upper  panes  were 
fastened  assignats,  old  placards,  plans  of  Paris,  bal- 
lads, military  franks  with  spots  of  blood,  autographs 
of  all  ages,  some  verses  by  Madame  Lafargue,  two 
letters  from  Chateaubriand  to  '  Pertuze,  Boot-maker, 
names  of  celebrities  ancient  and  modern  at  the  foot 
of  an  invitation  to  dinner,  or  perhaps  a  request  for 

I 


114  ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY' 

money,  a  complaint  of  poverty,  a  love  letter,  &c, 
enough  to  cure  anyone  of  writing  for  ever.  All  the 
autographs  were  priced  ;  and  as  Madame  Astier 
paused  for  a  moment  before  the  window  she  might 
see  next  to  a  letter  of  Rachel,  price  1 2/.,  a  letter  from 
Leonard  Astier-Rehu  to  Petit  Sequard,  his  publisher, 
price  2s.  But  this  was  not  what  she  came  for  :  she 
was  trying  to  discover,  behind  the  screen  of  green 
silk,  the  face  of  her  intended  customer,  the  master  of 
the  establishment.  She  was  seized  with  a  sudden 
fear :  suppose  he  was  not  at  home  after  all  ! 

The  thought  of  Paul  waiting  gave  her  determina- 
tion, and  she  went  into  the  dark,  close,  dusty  room. 
She  was  taken  at  once  into  a  little  closet  behind, 
and  began  to  explain  her  business  to  M.  Bos,  who, 
with  his  large  red  face  and  disordered  hair,  looked 
like  a  speaker  at  a  public  meeting.  A  temporary 
difficulty — her  husband  did  not  like  to  come  him- 
self— and  so But  before  she  could  finish  her  lie, 

M.  Bos,  with  a  '  Pray,  madame,  pray,'  had  produced 
a  cheque  on  the  Credit  Lyonnais,  and  was  accom- 
panying her  with  the  utmost  politeness  to  her  cab. 

'  A  very  genteel  person,'  he  said  to  himself,  much 
pleased  with  his  acquisition,  while  she,  as  she  took 
the  cheque  out  of  the  glove  into  which  it  had  been 
slipped,  and  looked  again  at  the  satisfactory  figure, 
was  thinking    What   a  delightful  man  ! '     She  had 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  115 

no  remorse,  not  even  the  slight  recoil  which  comes 
from  the  mere  fact  that  the  thing  is  done.  A  woman 
has  not  these  feelings.  She  wears  natural  blinkers, 
which  prevent  her  from  seeing  anything  but  the 
thing  which  she  desires  at  the  moment,  and  keep 
her  from  the  reflections  which  at  the  critical  moment 
embarrass  a  man.  She  thought  at  intervals,  of 
course,  of  her  husband's  anger  when  he  discovered 
the  theft,  but  she  saw  it,  as  it  were,  dim  in  the  dis- 
tance. Nay,  it  was  rather  a  satisfaction  to  add  this 
to  all  she  had  gone  through  since  yesterday,  and  say 
to  herself, '  I  can  bear  it  for  my  child  ! ' 

For  beneath  her  outward  calm,  her  external  enve- 
lope as  a  woman  of  Academic  fashion,  lay  a  certain 
thing  that  exists  in  all  women,  fashionable  or  not, 
and  that  thing  is  passion.  It  is  the  pedal  which 
works  the  feminine  instrument,  not  always  discovered 
by  the  husband  or  the  lover,  but  always  by  the  son. 
In  the  dull  story  with  no  love  in  it,  which  makes  up 
the  life  of  many  a  woman,  the  son  is  the  hero  and 
the  principal  character.  To  her  beloved  Paul,  espe- 
cially since  he  had  reached  manhood,  Madame  Astier 
owed  the  only  genuine  emotions  of  her  life,  the 
delightful  anguish  of  the  waiting,  the  chill  in  the  pale 
cheeks  and  the  heat  in  the  hollow  of  the  hand,  the 
supernatural  intuitions  which,  before  the  carriage  is 
at  the  door,  give  the  infallible  warning  that '  he  comes 


Il6  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

— things  which  she  had  never  known  even  in  the 
early  years  of  her  married  life  or  in  the  days  when 
people  called  her  imprudent,  and  her  husband  used 
to  say  with  simplicity, '  It's  odd  ;  I  never  smoke,  and 
my  wife's  veils  smell  of  tobacco.' 

When  she  reached  her  son's,  and  the  first  pull  of 
the  bell  was  not  answered,  her  anxiety  rose  to  dis- 
traction. The  little  mansion  showed  no  sign  of  life 
from  the  ground  to  the  ornamental  roof-ridge,  and,  in 
spite  of  its  much-admired  style,  had  to  her  eyes  a 
sinister  appearance,  as  also  had  the  adjoining  lodg- 
ing-house, not  less  architecturally  admirable,  but 
showing  bills  all  along  the  high  mullioned  windows 
of  its  two  upper  storeys,  '  To  let  ;  To  let  ;  To  let.' 
At  the  second  pull,  which  produced  a  tremendous 
ring,  Stenne,  the  impudent  little  man-servant,  look- 
ing very  spruce  in  his  close-fitting  sky-blue  livery, 
appeared  at  last  at  the  door,  rather  confused  and 
hesitating :  '  Oh  yes,  M.  Paul  was  in,  but — but — ' 

The  unhappy  mother,  haunted  ever  since  yester- 
day by  the  same  horrible  idea,  pictured  her  son  lying 
in  his  blood,  crossed  at  a  bound  the  passage  and  three 
steps,  and  burst  breathless  into  the  study.  Paul  was 
standing  at  work  before  his  desk  in  the  bay  window. 
One  pane  of  the  stained  glass  was  open,  to  throw 
light  upon  the  half-finished  sketch  and  the  box  of 
colours,  while  the  rest  of  the  perfumed  apartment  was 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  WJ 

steeped  in  a  soft  subdued  glow.  Absorbed  in  his 
work  he  seemed  not  to  have  heard  the  carriage  stop, 
the  bell  ring  twice,  and  a  lady's  dress  flit  along  the 
passage.  He  had  :  but  it  was  not  his  mother's 
shabby  black  dress  that  he  expected,  it  was  not  for 
her  that  he  posed  at  his  desk,  nor  for  her  that  he 
had  provided  the  delicate  bouquets  of  fine  irises  and 
tulips,  or  the  sweetmeats  and  elegant  decanters  upon 
the  light  table. 

The  way  in  which  as  he  looked  round  he  said, '  Oh, 
it's  you,'  would  have  been  significant  to  anyone  but 
his  mother.  She  did  not  notice  it,  lost  in  the  delight 
of  seeing  him  there,  perfectly  well,  perfectly  dressed. 
She  said  not  a  word,  but  tearing  her  glove  open  she 
triumphantly  handed  him  the  cheque.  He  did  not 
ask  her  where  she  got  it,  or  what  she  had  given  for 
it,  but  put  his  arms  round  her,  taking  care  not  to 
crumple  the  paper.  '  Dear  old  Mum ' ;  that  was  all 
he  said,  but  it  was  enough  for  her,  though  her  child 
was  not  as  overjoyed  as  she  expected,  but  rather  em- 
barrassed. '  Where  are  you  going  next  ? '  he  said 
thoughtfully,  with  the  cheque  in  his  hand. 

1  Where  next?'  she  repeated,  looking  at  him  with 
disappointment.  Why,  she  had  only  just  come,  and 
made  certain  of  spending  a  few  minutes  with  him  ; 
but  she  could  go  if  she  was  in  the  way.  'Why,  I 
think  I  shall  go  to  the  Princess's.     But  I  am  in  no 


Il8  ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY' 

hurry  ;  she  wearies  me  with  her  everlasting  lamenta- 
tion for  Herbert.  You  think  she  has  done  with  it, 
and  then  it  takes  a  fresh  start.' 

Paul  was  on  the  point  of  saying  something,  which 
he  did  not  say. 

1  Well,'  he  said,  '  Mammy,  will  you  do  something 
for  me?  I  am  expecting  somebody.  Go  and  cash 
this  for  me,  and  let  the  agent  have  the  money  in 
return  for  my  drafts.     You  don't  mind  ? ' 

She  did  not  indeed.  If  she  went  about  his  busi- 
ness she  would  seem  to  be  with  him  still.  While  he 
was  signing  his  name,  the  mother  looked  round  the 
room.  There  were  charming  carpets  and  curtains, 
and  nothing  to  mark  the  profession  of  the  occupant 
except  an  X  ruler  in  old  walnut,  and  some  casts  from 
well-known  friezes  hung  here  and  there.  As  she 
thought  of  her  recent  agony  and  looked  at  the 
elaborate  bouquets  and  the  refreshments  laid  by  the 
sofa,  it  occurred  to  her  that  these  were  unusual 
preparations  for  a  suicide.  She  smiled  without  any 
resentment.  The  naughty  wretch  !  She  only  pointed 
with  her  parasol  at  the  bonbons  in  flic  box  and 
said  : 

'  Those  are  to  make  a  hole  in  your — your — what 
do  you  call  it  ?' 

He  began  to  laugh  too. 

'  Oh,    there's   a    great    change   since  yesterday. 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY'  IIQ 

The  business,  you  know,  the  big  thing  I  talked  to 
you  about,  is  really  coming  off  this  time,  I  think.' 

'  Really?     So  is  mine.' 

'  Eh  ?     Ah  yes,  Sammy's  marriage.' 

Their  pretty  cunning  eyes,  both  of  the  same  hard 
grey,  but  the  mother's  a  little  faded,  exchanged  one 
scrutinising  glance. 

'  You'll  see,  we  shall  be  rolling  in  riches,'  he  said 
after  a  moment.  '  Now  you  must  be  going,'  and  he 
hurried  her  gently  to  the  door. 

That  morning  Paul  had  had  a  note  from  the  Prin- 
cess to  say  that  she  should  call  for  him  at  his  own 
house  to  go  to  the  usual  place.  The  usual  place 
was  the  cemetery.  Lately  there  had  been  what 
Madame  Astier  called  '  a  fresh  start '  of  Herbert. 
Twice  a  week  the  widow  went  to  the  cemetery  with 
flowers,  or  tapers,  or  articles  for  the  chapel,  and 
urged  the  progress  of  the  work  ;  her  conjugal  feelings 
had  broken  out  again.  The  fact  was,  that  after  a 
long  and  painful  hesitation  between  her  vanity  and 
her  love,  the  temptation  of  keeping  her  title  and 
the  fascinations  of  the  delightful  Paul — a  hesitation 
the  more  painful  that  she  confided  it  to  no  one,  except 
in  her  journal  every  evening  to  'poor  Herbert'— the 
appointment  of  Sammy  had  finally  decided  her,  and 
she  thought  it  proper,  before  taking  a  new  husband, 
to  complete  the  sepulture  of  the  first  and  have  done 


120  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

with    the  mausoleum  and    the  dangerous    intimacy 
of  its  seductive  designer. 

Paul,  without  understanding  the  flutterings  of 
the  foolish  little  soul,  was  amused  by  them,  and 
thought  them  excellent  symptoms,  indicating  the 
approach  of  the  crisis.  But  the  thing  dragged,  and 
he  was  in  a  hurry ;  it  was  time  to  hasten  the  con- 
clusion and  profit  by  Colette's  visit,  which  had  been 
long  proposed  but  long  deferred,  the  Princess,  though 
curious  to  see  the  young  man's  lodgings,  being  appa- 
rently afraid  to  meet  him  in  a  place  much  more 
private  than  her  own  house  or  her  carriage,  where 
there  were  always  the  servants  to  see.  Not  that 
he  had  ever  been  over-bold  ;  he  only  seemed  to 
surround  her  with  his  presence.  But  she  was  afraid 
of  herself,  her  opinion  coinciding  with  that  of  the 
young  man,  who,  being  an  experienced  general  in 
such  matters,  had  classed  her  at  once  as  one  of  the 
'  open  towns.'  It  was  his  name  for  the  sort  of 
fashionable  women  who,  in  spite  of  a  high  and  ap- 
parently unassailable  position,  in  spite  of  a  great  ap- 
paratus of  defences  in  every  direction,  are  in  reality 
to  be  carried  by  a  bold  attack.  He  did  not 
intend  now  to  make  the  regular  assault,  but  only 
a  smart  approach  or  so  of  warm  flirtation,  suffi- 
cient to  set  a  mark  upon  his  prey  without  hurting 
her  dignity,  and  to   signify  the  final  expropriation 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY'  121 

of  the  deceased.  The  marriage  and  the  million 
would  follow  in  due  time.  Such  was  the  happy 
dream  which  Madame  Astier  had  interrupted.  He 
was  pursuing  it  still,  at  the  same  desk  and  in  the 
same  contemplative  attitude,  when  the  whole  house 
resounded  with  another  ring  at  the  bell,  followed 
however  only  by  conversation  at  the  front  door. 
'What  is  it?'  said  Paul  impatiently,  as  he  came  out. 

The  voice  of  a  footman,  whose  tall  black  figure 
was  conspicuous  in  the  doorway  against  a  background 
of  splashing  rain,  answered  from  the  steps,  with  re- 
spectful insolence,  that  my  lady  was  waiting  for  him 
in  the  carriage.  Paul,  though  choking  with  rage, 
managed  to  get  out  the  words,  '  I  am  coming.' 
But  what  horrid  curses  he  muttered  under  his 
breath  !  The  dead  fellow  again  !  Sure  enough,  it  was 
the  remembrance  of  him  that  had  kept  her  away. 
But  after  a  few  seconds  the  hope  of  avenging  himself 
before  long  in  a  highly  amusing  way  enabled  him  so 
far  to  recover  countenance,  that  when  he  joined  the 
Princess  he  was  as  cool  as  ever,  and  showed  nothing 
of  his  anger  but  a  little  extra  paleness  in  the  cheek. 

It  was  warm  in  the  brougham,  the  windows 
having  been  put  up  because  of  the  shower.  Huge 
bouquets  of  violets  and  wreaths  as  heavy  as  pies 
loaded  the  cushions  round  Madame  de  Rosen  and 
filled  her  lap. 


122  ONE   OF  THE  'FORTY' 

'  Are  the  flowers  unpleasant  ?  Shall  I  put  the 
window  down?'  said  she,  with  the  cajoling  manner 
which  a  woman  puts  on  when  she  has  played  you 
a  trick  and  wants  not  to  have  a  quarrel  over  it. 
Paul's  gesture  expressed  a  dignified  indifference. 
It  was  nothing  to  him  whether  the  window  was 
put  down  or  put  up.  The  Princess,  whose  deep 
veil,  still  worn  on  such  occasions  as  the  present,  con- 
cealed a  blooming  face,  felt  more  uncomfortable  than 
if  he  had  reproached  her  openly.  Poor  young  man  ! 
She  was  treating  him  so  cruelly — so  much  more 
cruelly  than  he  knew !  She  laid  her  hand  gently 
upon  his,  and  said,  '  You  are  not  angry  with  me?' 

He  ?  Not  at  all.  Why  should  he  be  angry  with 
her? 

'  For  not  coming  in.  I  did  say  I  would,  but  at 
the  last  moment  I— I  did  not  think  I  should  hurt  you 
so  much.' 

'  You  hurt  me  very  much  indeed.' 

When  a  gentleman  of  severely  correct' deportment 
is  betrayed  into  a  word  or  two  of  emotion,  oh,  what 
an  impression  they  make  upon  a  woman's  heart ! 
They  upset  her  almost  as  much  as  the  tears  of  an 
officer  in  uniform. 

'  No,  no,'  she  said,  '  please,  please  do  not  distress 
yourself  any  more  about  me.  Please  say  that  you 
are  not  angry  now.' 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY*  123 

As  she  spoke  she  leaned  quite  close  to  him,  letting 
her  flowers  slip  down.  She  felt  quite  safe  with  two 
broad  black  backs  and  two  black  cockades  visible  on 
the  box  under  a  large  umbrella. 

'  Look,'  she  went  on  ;   '  I  promise  you  to  come 

once — at  least  once— before '  but  here  she  stopped 

in  dismay.  Carried  away  by  her  feelings,  she  was  on 
the  point  of  telling  him  that  they  were  soon  to  part, 
and  that  she  was  going  to  St.  Petersburg.  Recover- 
ing herself  in  a  moment,  she  declared  emphatically 
that  she  would  call  unannounced  some  afternoon 
when  she  was  not  going  to  visit  the  mausoleum. 

'  But  you  go  there  every  afternoon,'  he  said,  with 
clenched  teeth  and  such  a  queer  accent  of  suppressed 
indignation  that  a  smile  played  beneath  the  widow's 
veil,  and  to  make  a  diversion  she  put  down  the  win- 
dow. The  shower  was  over.  The  brougham  had 
turned  into  a  poor  quarter,  where  the  street  in  its 
squalid  gaiety  seemed  to  feel  that  the  worst  of  the 
year  was  past,  as  the  sun,  almost  hot  enough  for 
summer,  lighted  up  the  wretched  shops,  the  barrows 
at  the  gutter's  edge,  the  tawdry  placards,  and  the 
rags  that  fluttered  in  the  windows.  The  Princess 
looked  out  upon  it  with  indifference.  Such  trivialities 
are  non-existent  for  people  accustomed  to  see  them 
from  the  cushions  of  their  carriage  at  an  elevation  of 
two  feet  from  the  road.     The  comfort  of  the  springs 


124  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

and  the  protection  of  the  glass  have  a  peculiar  influ- 
ence upon  the  eyes,  which  take  no  interest  in  things 
below  their  level. 

Madame  de  Rosen  was  thinking, '  How  he  loves 
me !  And  how  nice  he  is  ! '  The  other  suitor  was  of 
course  more  dignified,  but  it  would  have  been  much 
pleasanter  with  this  one.  Oh,  dear !  The  happiest  life 
is  but  a  service  incomplete,  and  never  a  perfect  set ! 

By  this  time  they  were  nearing  the  cemetery.  On 
both  sides  of  the  road  were  stonemasons'  yards,  in 
which  the  hard  white  of  slabs,  images,  and  crosses 
mingled  with  the  gold  of  immortelles  and  the  black  or 
white  beads  of  wreaths  and  memorials. 

'And  what  about  Vedrine's  statue?  Which  way 
do  we  decide  ? '  he  asked  abruptly,  in  the  tone  of  a 
man  who  means  to  confine  himself  to  business. 

'Well,  really — '  she  began.  'But,  oh  dear,  oh 
dear,  I  shall  hurt  your  feelings  again  ? ' 

'  My  feelings  !  how  so  ?  ' 

The  day  before,  they  had  been  to  make  a  last  in- 
spection of  the  knight,  before  he  was  sent  to  the 
foundry.  At  a  previous  visit  the  Princess  had  re- 
ceived a  disagreeable  impression,  not  so  much  from 
Vedrine's  work,  which  she  scarcely  looked  at,  as  from 
the  strange  studio  with  trees  growing  in  it,  with  lizards 
and  wood-lice  running  about  the  walls,  and  all  around 
it  roofless  ruins,  suggesting  recollections  of  the  incen- 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  1 25 

diary  mob.  But  from  the  second  visit  the  poor  little 
woman  had  come  back  literally  ill.  '  My  dear,  it  is 
the  horror  of  horrors  ! '  Such  was  her  real  opinion, 
as  given  the  same  evening  to  Madame  Astier.  But 
she  did  not  dare  to  say  so  to  Paul,  knowing  that  he 
was  a  friend  of  the  sculptor,  and  also  because  the 
name  of  Vedrine  is  one  of  the  two  or  three  which  the 
fashionable  world  has  chosen  to  honour  in  spite  of  its 
natural  and  implanted  tastes,  and  regards  with  an 
irrational  admiration  by  way  of  pretending  to  artistic 
originality.  That  the  coarse  rude  figure  should  not 
be  put  on  dear  Herbert's  tomb  she  was  determined, 
but  she  was  at  a  loss  for  a  presentable  reason. 

'  Really,  Monsieur  Paul,  between  ourselves — of 
course  it  is  a  splendid  work — a  fine  Vedrine — but  you 
must  allow  that  it  is  a  little  triste! 

'  Well,  but  for  a  tomb '  suggested  Paul. 

'  And  then,  if  you  will  not  mind,  there  is  this.' 
With  much  hesitation  she  came  to  the  point.  Really, 
you  know,  a  man  upon  a  camp  bedstead  with  nothing 
on  !  Really  she  did  not  think  it  fit.  It  might  be 
taken  for  a  portrait !  '  And  just  think  of  poor  Her- 
bert, the  correctest  of  men !  What  would  it  look 
like  ? ' 

'  There  is  a  good  deal  in  that,'  said  Paul  gravely, 
and  he  threw  his  friend  Vedrine  overboard  with  as 
little  concern  as  a  litter  of  kittens.     '  After  all,  if  you 


126  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

do  not  like  the  figure,  we  can  put  another,  or  none  at 
all.  It  would  have  a  more  striking  effect.  The  tent 
empty  ;  the  bed  ready,  and  no  one  to  lie  on  it ! ' 

The  Princess,  whose  chief  satisfaction  was  that  the 
shirtless  ruffian  would  not  be  seen  there,  exclaimed, 
1  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  !  how  nice  of  you  !  I  don't  mind 
telling  you  now,  that  I  cried  over  it  all  night ! ' 

As  usual,  when  they  stopped  at  the  entrance  gate, 
the  footman  took  the  wreaths  and  followed  some  way 
behind,  while  Colette  and  Paul  climbed  in  the  heat  a 
path  made  soft  by  the  recent  showers.  She  leaned 
upon  his  arm,  and  from  time  to  time  '  hoped  that  she 
did  not  tire  him.'  He  shook  his  head  with  a  sad 
smile.  There  were  few  people  in  the  cemetery.  A 
gardener  and  a  keeper  recognised  the  familiar  figure 
of  the  Princess  with  a  respectful  bow.  But  when  they 
had  left  the  avenue  and  passed  the  upper  terraces,  it 
was  all  solitude  and  shade.  Besides  the  birds  in  the 
trees  they  heard  only  the  grinding  of  the  saw  and 
the  metallic  clink  of  the  chisel,  sounds  perpetual  in 
Pere-la-Chaise,  as  in  some  city  always  in  building  and 
never  finished. 

Two  or  three  times  Madame  de  Rosen  had  seen 
her  companion  glance  with  displeasure  at  the  tall 
lacquey  in  his  long  black  overcoat  and  cockade,  whose 
funereal  figure  now  as  ever  formed  part  of  the  love- 
scene.     Eager  on  this  occasion   to   please  him,  she 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY1  1 27 

stopped,  saying,  '  Wait  a  minute,'  took  the  flowers 
herself,  dismissed  the  servant,  and  they  went  on  all 
alone  along  the  winding  walk.  But  in  spite  of  this 
kindness,  Paul's  brow  did  not  relax  ;  and,  as  he  had 
hung  upon  his  free  arm  three  or  four  rings  of  violets, 
immortelles,  and  lilac,  he  felt  more  angry  with  the 
deceased  than  ever.  '  You  shall  pay  me  for  this,'  was 
his  savage  reflection.  She,  on  the  contrary,  felt 
singularly  happy,  in  that  vivid  consciousness  of  life 
and  health  which  comes  upon  us  in  places  of  death. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  warmth  of  the  day,  the  perfume  of 
the  flowers,  mixing  their  fragrance  with  the  stronger 
scent  of  the  yews  and  the  box  trees  and  the  moist 
earth  steaming  in  the  sun,  and  with  another  yet,  an 
acrid,  faint,  and  penetrating  scent,  which  she  knew 
well,  but  which,  to-day,  instead  of  revolting  her  senses, 
as  usual,  seemed  rather  to  intoxicate  them. 

Suddenly  a  shiver  passed  over  her.  The  hand 
which  lay  on  the  young  man's  arm  was  suddenly 
grasped  in  his,  grasped  with  force  and  held  tight,  held 
as  it  were  in  an  embrace,  and  the  little  hand  dared 
not  take  itself  away.  The  fingers  of  his  hand  were 
trying  to  get  between  the  delicate  fingers  of  hers  and 
take  possession  of  it  altogether.  Hers  resisted,  trying 
to  clench  itself  in  the  glove  by  way  of  refusal.  All 
the  time  they  went  on  walking,  arm  in  arm,  neither 
speaking  nor  looking,  but   much  moved,  resistance, 


128  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY' 

according  to  the  natural  law,  exciting  the  relative 
desire.  At  last  came  the  surrender  ;  the  little  hand 
opened,  and  their  ringers  joined  in  a  clasp  which 
parted  their  gloves,  for  one  exquisite  moment  of  full 
avowal  and  complete  possession.  The  next  minute 
the  woman's  pride  awoke.  She  wanted  to  speak,  to 
show  that  she  was  mistress  of  herself,  that  she  had 
no  part  in  what  was  done,  nor  knowledge  of  it  at  all. 
Finding  nothing  to  say,  she  read  aloud  the  epitaph  on 
a  tomb  lying  flat  among  the  weeds,  '  Augusta,  1847,' 
and  he  continued,  under  his  breath,  '  A  love-story, 
no  doubt.'  Overhead  the  thrushes  and  finches  uttered 
their  strident  notes,  not  unlike  the  sounds  of  the  stone- 
cutting,  which  were  heard  uninterruptedly  in  the 
distance. 

They  were  now  entering  the  Twentieth  Division, 
the  part  of  the  cemetery  which  may  be  called  its  '  old 
town,'  where  the  paths  are  narrower,  the  trees  higher, 
the  tombs  closer  together,  a  confused  mass  of  iron- 
work, pillars,  Greek  temples,  pyramids,  angels,  genii, 
busts,  wings  open  and  wings  folded.  The  tombs 
were  various  as  the  lives  now  hidden  beneath — com- 
monplace, odd,  original,  simple,  forced,  pretentious, 
modest.  In  some  the  floor-stones  were  freshly  cleaned 
and  loaded  with  flowers,  memorials,  and  miniature 
gardens  of  a  Chinese  elegance  in  littleness.  In  others 
the  mossy  slabs  were  mouldering  or  parting,  and  were 


ONE  OF  THE  *  FORTY  '  120. 

covered  with  brambles  and  high  weeds.  But  all  bore 
well-known  names,  names  distinctly  Parisian,  names 
of  lawyers,  judges,  merchants  of  eminence,  ranged 
here  in  rows  as  in  the  haunts  of  business  and  trade. 
There  were  even  double  names,  standing  for  family 
partnerships  in  capital  and  connection,  substantial 
signatures,  known  no  more  to  the  directory  or  the 
bank  ledger,  but  united  for  ever  upon  the  tomb.  And 
Madame  de  Rosen  remarked  them  with  the  same 
tone  of  surprise,  almost  of  pleasure,  with  which  she 
would  have  bowed  to  a  carriage  in  the  Park,  '  Ah! 
the  So-and-So's  !  Mario  ?  was  that  the  singer  ? '  and 
so  forth,  all  by  way  of  seeming  not  to  know  that  their 
hands  were  clasped. 

But  presently  the  door  of  a  tomb  near  them 
creaked,  and  there  appeared  a  large  lady  in  black, 
with  a  round  fresh  face.  She  carried  a  little  watering- 
pot,  and  was  putting  to  rights  the  flower-beds,  oratory, 
and  tomb  generally,  as  calmly  as  if  she  had  been  in  a 
summer-house.  She  nodded  to  them  across  the  in- 
closure  with  a  kindly  smile  of  unselfish  good  will, 
which  seemed  to  say,  '  Use  your  time,  happy  lovers  ; 
life  is  short,  and  nothing  good  but  love.'  A  feeling 
of  embarrassment  unloosed  their  hands,  The  spell 
was  broken,  and  the  Princess,  with  a  sort  of  shame, 
led  the  way  across  the  tombs,  taking  the  quickest  and 
shortest  line  to  reach  the  mausoleum  of  the  Prince. 

K 


130  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

It  stood  on  the  highest  ground  in  '  Division  20,' 
upon  a  large  level  of  lawn  and  flowers,  inclosed  by  a 
low  rich  rail  of  wrought  iron  in  the  style  of  the 
Scaliger  tombs  at  Verona.  Its  general  appearance 
was  designedly  rough,  and  fairly  realised  the  concep- 
tion of  an  antique  tent  with  its  coarse  folds,  the  red 
of  the  Dalmatian  granite  giving  the  colour  of  the  bark 
in  which  the  canvas  had  been  steeped.  At  the  top 
of  three  broad  steps  of  granite  was  the  entrance, 
flanked  with  pedestals  and  high  funereal  tripods  of 
bronze  blackened  with  a  sort  of  lacquer.  Above  were 
the  Rosen  arms  upon  a  large  scutcheon,  also  of  bronze, 
the  shield  of  the  good  knight  who  slept  within  the 
tent. 

Entering  the  inclosure,  they  laid  the  wreaths  here 
and  there,  on  the  pedestals  and  on  the  slanted  pro- 
jections, representing  huge  tent-pegs,  at  the  edge  of 
the  base.  The  Princess  went  to  the  far  end  of  the 
interior,  where  in  the  darkness  before  the  altar  shone 
the  silver  fringes  of  two  kneeling-desks,  and  the  old 
gold  of  a  Gothic  cross  and  massive  candlesticks,  and 
there  fell  upon  her  knees — a  good  place  to  pray  in, 
among  the  cool  slabs,  the  panels  of  black  marble 
glittering  with  the  name  and  full  titles  of  the  dead, 
and  the  inscriptions  from  Ecclesiastes  or  the  Song  of 
Songs.  But  the  Princess  could  find  only  a  few  in- 
distinct words,  confused  with  profane  thoughts,  which 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  131 

made  her  ashamed.  She  rose  and  busied  herself  with 
the  flower-stands,  retiring  gradually  far  enough  to 
judge  the  effect  of  the  sarcophagus  or  bed.  The 
cushion  of  black  bronze,  with  silver  monogram,  was 
already  in  its  place,  and  she  thought  the  hard  couch 
with  nothing  upon  it  had  a  fine  and  simple  effect. 
But  she  wanted  the  opinion  of  Paul,  who  could  be 
heard  pacing  the  gravel  as  he  waited  without.  Men- 
tally approving  his  delicacy,  she  was  on  the  point  of 
calling  him  in,  when  the  interior  grew  dark,  and  on 
the  trefoil  lights  of  the  lantern  was  heard  the  patter 
of  another  shower,  Twice  she  called  him,  but  he  did 
not  move  from  the  pedestal,  where  he  sat  exposed  to 
the  rain,  and  without  speaking  declined  her  invitation. 

'  Come  in,'  she  said, '  come  in.' 

Still  he  stayed,  saying  rapidly  and  low,  '  I  do 
not  want  to  come.     You  love  him  so.' 

'  Come,'  she  still  said,  '  come,'  and  taking  his  hand 
drew  him  to  the  entrance.  Step  by  step  the  splash- 
ing of  the  rain  made  them  draw  back  as  far  as  the 
sarcophagus,  and  there,  half  sitting,  half  standing, 
they  remained  side  by  side,  contemplating  beneath 
the  low  clouds  the  '  old  town '  of  the  dead,  which 
sloped  away  at  their  feet  with  its  crowding  throng 
of  pinnacles  and  grey  figures  and  humbler  stones, 
rising  like  Druid  architecture  from  the  bright  green. 

No  birds  were  audible,   nc   sound  of  tools,  nothing 

k  2 


132  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

but  the  water  running  away  on  all  sides,  and  from 
the  canvas  cover  of  a  half-finished  monument  the 
monotonous  voices  of  two  artisans  discussing  their 
worries.  The  rain  without  made  it  all  the  warmer 
within,  and  with  the  strong  aroma  of  the  flowers 
mingled  still  that  other  inseparable  scent.  The 
Princess  had  raised  her  veil,  feeling  the  same  oppres- 
sion and  dryness  of  the  mouth  that  she  had  felt  on 
the  way  up.  Speechless  and  motionless,  the  pair 
seemed  so  much  a  part  of  the  tomb,  that  a  little 
brown  bird  came  hopping  in  to  shake  its  feathers 
and  pick  a  worm  between  the  slabs.  '  It's  a  nightin- 
gale,' murmured  Paul  in  the  sweet  overpowering  still- 
ness. She  tried  to  say,  'Do  they  sing  still  in  this 
month  ? '  But  he  had  taken  her  in  his  arms,  he  had 
set  her  between  his  knees  at  the  edge  of  the  granite 
couch,  and  putting  her  head  back,  pressed  upon  her 
half-open  lips  a  long,  long  kiss,  passionately  returned. 
'Because  love  is  more  strong  than  death,'  said  the 
inscription  from  the  Canticle,  written  above  them 
upon  the  marble  wall. 

When  the  Princess  reached  her  house,  where 
Madame  Astier  was  awaiting  her  return,  she  had  a 
long  cry  in  the  arms  of  her  friend,  a  refuge  unhappily 
not  more  trustworthy  than  those  of  her  friend's  son. 
It  was  a  burst  of  lamentation  and  broken  words. 
'  Oh,  my  dear,  oh,  my  dear,  how  miserable  I  am  !     If 


ONE  OF  THE   'FORTY'  I33 

you  knew/  she  said,  '  if  you  only  knew ! '  She  felt 
with  despair  the  hopeless  difficulty  of  the  situation, 
her  hand  solemnly  promised  to  the  Prince  d'Athis, 
and  her  affections  just  plighted  to  the  enchanter  of 
the  tombs,  whom  she  cursed  from  the  depths  of  her 
soul.  And,  most  distressing  of  all,  she  could  not 
confide  her  weakness  to  her  affectionate  friend,  being 
sure  that,  the  moment  she  opened  her  lips,  the 
mother  would  side  with  her  son  against  '  Sammy,' 
with  love  against  prudence,  and  perhaps  even  compel 
her  to  the  intolerable  degradation  of  marrying  a 
commoner. 

'  There  then,  there  then,'  said  Madame  Astier, 
unaffected  by  the  torrent  of  grief.  'You  are  come 
from  the  cemetery,  I  suppose,  where  you  have  been 
working  up  your  feelings  again.  But  you  know,  dear, 
there  must  be  an  end  to  Artemisia ! '  She  under- 
stood the  woman's  weak  vanity,  and  insisted  on  the 
absurdity  of  this  interminable  mourning,  ridiculous  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world,  and  at  all  events  injurious  to 
her  beauty  And  after  all,  it  was  not  a  question  of 
a  second  love-match  !  What  was  proposed  was  no 
more  than  an  alliance  between  two  names  and  titles 
equally  noble.  Herbert  himself,  if  he  saw  her  from 
heaven,  must  be  content. 

'  He  did  understand  things,  certainly,  poor  dear,* 
sighed  Colette  de  Rosen,  whose  maiden  name  was 


134  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

Sauvadon.  She  was  set  on  becoming  '  Madame 
1'Ambassadrice,'  and  still  more  on  remaining 
'  Madame  la  Princesse.' 

'  Look,  dear,  will  you  have  a  piece  of  good  ad- 
vice ?  You  just  run  away.  Sammy  will  start  in  a 
week.  Do  not  wait  for  him.  Take  Lavaux.  He 
knows  St.  Petersburg,  and  will  settle  you  there  mean- 
while. And  there  will  be  this  advantage,  that  you 
will  escape  a  painful  scene  with  the  Duchess.  A 
Corsican,  you  know,  is  capable  of  anything.' 

'  Ye-es,  perhaps  I  had  better  go,'  said  Madame 
de  Rosen,  to  whom  the  chief  merit  of  the  plan  was 
that  she  would  avoid  any  fresh  attack,  and  put  dis- 
tance between  her  and  the  folly  of  the  afternoon. 

'  Is  it  the  tomb  ? '  asked  Madame  Astier,  seeing 
her  hesitate.  '  Is  that  it  ?  Why,  Paul  will  finish  it 
very  well  without  you.  Come,  pet,  no  more  tears. 
You  may  water  your  beauty,  but  you  must  not  over- 
water  it.'  As  she  went  away  in  the  fading  light  to 
wait  for  her  omnibus,  the  good  lady  said  to  herself, 
'  Oh  dear,  D'Athis  will  never  know  what  his  marriage 
is  costing  me  ! '  And  here  her  feeling  of  weariness, 
her  longing  for  a  good  rest  after  so  many  trials,  re- 
minded her  suddenly  that  the  most  trying  of  all  was 
to  come,  the  discovery  and  confession  at  home.  She 
had  not  yet  had  time  to  think  about  it,  and  now  she 
was  going  fast  towards  it,  nearer  and    nearer  with 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  I35 

every  turn  of  the  heavy  wheels.  The  very  anticipa- 
tion made  her  shudder:  it  was  not  fear  ;  but  the  frantic 
outcries  of  Astier-Rehu,  his  big  rough  voice,  the 
answer  that  must  be  given,  and  then  the  inevitable 
reappearance  of  his  trunk — oh,  what  a  weariness  it 
would  be !  Could  it  not  be  put  off  till  to-morrow  ? 
She  was  tempted  not  to  confess  at  once,  but  to  turn 
suspicion  upon  some  one  else,  upon  Teyssedre  for 
instance,  till  the  next  morning.  She  would  at  least 
get  a  quiet  night. 

'  Ah,  here  is  Madame  !  Something  has  happened/ 
cried  Corentine,  as  she  ran  to  the  door  in  a  fluster, 
excitement  making  more  conspicuous  than  usual  the 
marks  of  her  smallpox.  Madame  Astier  made 
straight  for  her  own  room  ;  but  the  door  of  the  study 
opened,  and  a  peremptory  '  Adelaide ! '  compelled 
her  to  go  in.  The  rays  of  the  lamp-globe  showed  her 
that  the  face  of  her  husband  had  a  strange  expression. 
He  took  her  by  the  two  hands  and  drew  her  into 
the  light.  Then  in  a  quivering  voice  he  said, '  Loi- 
sillon  is  dead,'  and  he  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks. 

Not  found  out !  No,  not  yet.  He  had  not  even 
gone  up  to  his  papers  ;  but  had  been  pacing  his 
study  for  two  hours,  eager  to  see  her  and  tell  her 
this  great  news,  these  three  words  which  meant  a 
change  in  their  whole  life. '  Loisillon  is  dead  !' 


136  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Mile.  Germaine  de  Freydet, 

Clos  Jallanges. 

MY  DEAREST  SISTER, — Your  letters  distress  me  much. 
I  know  you  are  lonely  and  ill,  and  feel  my  absence  ; 
but  what  am  I  to  do  ?    Remember  my  master's  advice 
to  show  myself  and  be  seen.     It  is  not,  as  you  may 
suppose,  at  Clos  Jallanges,  in  my  tweed  suit  and  leg- 
gings, that  I  could  get  on  with  my  candidature.      I 
cannot  but  see  that  the   time  is  near.     Loisillon  is 
sinking  visibly,  dying  by  inches  ;  and  I  am  using  the 
time  to  make  friendships  among  the  Academicians, 
which  may  mean  votes  hereafter.     Astier  has  already 
introduced  me  to  several   of  them.      I  often  go  to 
fetch  him  after  the  meetings.     It  is  charming  to  see 
them  come  out  of  the  Institute,  almost  all  laden  with 
years  as  with  honours,  and  walk  away  arm-in-arm  in 
groups  of  three  or  four,  bright  and  happy,   talking 
loud  and  filling  the   pavement,   their  eyes  still  wet 
after  the  hearty  laughs  they  have  had  within.     '  Paille- 
ron  is  very  smart,'  says  one  ;    '  But  Danjou  gave  it 


ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY'  1 37 

him  back,'  says  another.  As  for  me,  I  fasten  on 
to  the  arm  of  Astier-Rehu  and,  ranked  with  the 
deities,  seem  almost  a  deity  myself.  One  by  one  at 
this  or  that  bridge  the  groups  break  up.  '  See  you 
next  Thursday,'  is  the  last  word.  And  I  go  back  to 
the  Rue  de  Beaune  with  my  master,  who  gives  me 
encouragement  and  advice,  and  in  the  confidence  of 
success  says,  with  his  frank  laugh,  '  Look  at  me, 
Freydet ;  I  am  twenty  years  younger  after  a  meeting  ! ' 

I  really  believe  the  dome  does  keep  them  fresh. 
Where  is  there  another  old  man  as  lusty  as  Jean 
Rehu,  whose  ninety-eighth  birthday  we  celebrated 
yesterday  evening  by  a  dinner  at  Voisin's  ?  Lavaux 
suggested  it,  and  if  it  cost  me  40/.,  it  gave  me  the 
opportunity  of  counting  my  men.  We  were  twenty- 
five  at  table,  all  Academicians,  except  Picheral, 
Lavaux,  and  myself.  I  have  the  votes  of  seventeen  or 
eighteen ;  the  rest  are  uncertain,  but  well  disposed. 
Dinner  very  well  served,  and  very  chatty. 

By  the  way,  I  have  asked  Lavaux  to  come  to 
Clos  Jallanges  for  his  holiday.  He  is  librarian  of  the 
Bibliotheque  Mazarine.  He  shall  have  the  large  room 
in  the  wing,  looking  out  on  the  pheasants.  I  don't 
think  highly  of  his  character,  but  I  must  have  him  ; 
he  is  the  Duchess's  '  zebra ' !  Did  I  tell  you  that  a 
zebra  in  ladies'  language  is  a  bachelor  friend,  unoccu- 
pied,  discreet,   and  quick,  kept  always  at  hand  for 


I38  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY' 

errands  and  missions  too  delicate  to  be  trusted  to  a 
servant  ?  In  the  intervals  of  his  diplomacy  a  young 
zebra  may  sometimes  get  particular  gratifications, 
but  as  a  rule  the  animal  is  tame  and  wants  little, 
content  with  small  promotion,  a  place  at  the  bottom 
of  the  table,  and  the  honour  of  showing  his  paces 
before  the  lady  and  her  friends.  Lavaux,  I  fancy, 
has  made  his  place  profitable  in  other  ways.  He 
is  so  clever  and,  in  spite  of  his  easy  manner,  so  much 
dreaded.  He  knows,  as  he  says,  '  the  servants'  hall ' 
of  two  establishments,  literature  and  politics,  and  he 
shows  me  the  holes  and  traps  of  which  the  road  to 
the  Institute  is  full.  Astier,  my  master,  does  not 
know  them  to  this  day.  In  his  grand  simplicity  he 
has  climbed  straight  up,  unaware  of  danger,  with  his 
eyes  upon  the  dome,  confident  in  his  strength  and 
his  labour.  A  hundred  times  he  would  have  broken 
his  neck,  if  his  wife,  the  cleverest  of  clever  women, 
had  not  guided  him  unperceived. 

It  was  Lavaux  who  dissuaded  me  from  publishing 
between  this  and  the  next  vacancy  my  '  Thoughts  of 
a  Rustic."  '  No,  no,'  said  he  to  me, '  you  have  done 
enough.  You  might  well  even  let  it  be  understood 
that  you  will  not  write  any  more.  Your  work  is 
over,  and  you  are  a  mere  gentleman  at  large.  The 
Academie  loves  that.'  I  put  that  with  the  valuable 
hint  from  Picheral :  '  Do  not  take  them  your  books.' 


ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY'  1 39 

The  fewer  your  works,  I  see,  the  better  your  claim. 
Picheral  has  much  influence ;  he  too  must  come  to 
us  this  summer.  Put  him  on  the  second  floor,  in 
what  was  the  box-room,  or  somewhere.  Poor 
Germaine,  it  is  a  great  bother  for  you,  and  ill  as  you 
are!  But  where's  the  help?  It  is  bad  enough  not 
to  have  a  house  in  town  for  the  winter  and  give 
parties,  like  Dalzon,  Moser,  and  all  my  competitors. 
Do,  do  take  care  of  yourself  and  get  well. 

To  go  back  to  my  dinner  party.  There  was  natu- 
rally much  talk  of  the  Academie,  its  elections  and 
duties,  its  merits  and  demerits  in  public  estimation. 
The  '  deities '  hold  that  those  who  run  down  the 
institution  are  all,  without  exception,  poor  creatures 
who  cannot  get  in.  For  the  strong  apparent  instances 
to  the  contrary,  there  was  a  reason  in  each  case.  I 
ventured  to  mention  the  great  name  of  Balzac,  a  man 
from  our  country.  But  the  playwright  Desminieres, 
who  used  to  manage  the  amateur  theatricals  at 
Compiegne,  burst  out  with  ( Balzac !  But  did  you 
know  him  ?  Do  you  know,  sir,  the  sort  of  man  he 
was  ?  An  utter  Bohemian  !  A  man,  sir,  who  never 
had  a  guinea  in  his  pocket !  I  had  it  from  his  friend 
Frederic  Lemaitre.      Never  one  guinea !      And  you 

would  have  had  the  Academie '     Here  old  Jean 

Rdhu,  having  his  trumpet  to  his  ear,  got  the  notion 
that  we  were  talking  of  '  tallies,'  and  told  us  the  fine 


140  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY' 

story  of  his  friend  Suard  coming  to  the  Academic 
on  January  21,  1793,  the  day  the  king  was  executed, 
and  availing  himself  of  the  absence  of  his  colleagues 
to  sweep  off  the  whole  fees  for  the  meeting. 

He  tells  a  story  well,  does  the  old  gentleman,  and 
but  for  his  deafness  would  be  a  brilliant  talker. 
When  I  gave  his  health,  with  a  few  complimentary 
verses  on  his  marvellous  youth,  the  old  fellow  in 
a  gracious  reply  called  me  his  dear  colleague.  My 
master  Astier  corrected  him  — '  future  colleague.' 
Laughter  and  applause.  '  Future  colleague '  was 
the  title  which  they  all  gave  me  as  they  said  good- 
bye, shaking  my  hand  with  a  significant  pressure,  and 
adding,  *  We  shall  meet  before  long,'  or  '  See  you 
soon,'  in  reference  to  my  expected  call.  It  is  not 
a  pleasant  process,  paying  these  calls,  but  everyone 
goes  through  it.  Astier-Rehu  told  me,  as  we  came 
away  from  the  dinner,  that  when  he  was  elected  old 
Dufaure  let  him  come  ten  times  without  seeing  him. 
Well,  he  would  not  give  up,  and  the  eleventh  time 
the  door  was  thrown  open.  Nothing  like  persis- 
tence. 

In  truth,  if  Ripault-Babin  or  Loisillon  died  (they 
are  both  in  danger,  but  even  now  I  have  most  hopes 
of  Ripault-Babin),  my  only  serious  competitor  would 
be  Dalzon.  He  has  talent  and  wealth,  stands  well 
with  the  '  dukes,'  and  his  cellar  is  capital  ;  the  only 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  141 

thing  against  him  is  a  youthful  peccadillo  lately 
discovered,  '  Without  the  Veil/  a  poem  of  600  lines 
printed  '  at  Eropolis,'  anonymously,  and  utterly  out- 
rageous. They  say  that  he  has  bought  up  and 
suppressed  the  whole,  but  there  are  still  some  copies 
in  circulation  with  signature  and  dedication.  Poor 
Dalzon  contradicts  the  story  and  makes  a  desperate 
fight.  The  Acad^mie  reserves  judgment  pending 
the  inquiry.  That  is  why  my  respected  master  said 
to  me  gravely  one  evening  without  giving  reasons, 
'  I  shall  not  vote  again  for  M.  Dalzon.'  The 
Academie  is  a  club,  that  is  the  important  thing  to 
remember.  You  cannot  go  in  without  proper  dress 
and  clean  hands.  For  all  that  I  have  too  much 
gallantry  and  too  much  respect  for  my  opponent  to 
make  use  of  such  concealed  weapons ;  and  Fage,  the 
bookbinder  in  the  Cour  des  Comptes,  the  strange 
little  humpback  whom  I  sometimes  meet  in  V^drine's 
studio — Fage,  I  say,  who  has  much  acquaintance  with 
the  curiosities  of  bibliography,  got  a  good  snub  when 
he  offered  me  one  of  the  signed  copies  of  '  Without 
the  Veil.'  'Then  it  will  go  to  M.  Moser/  was  his 
calm  reply. 

Talking  of  Vedrine,  I  am  in  an  awkward  position. 
In  the  warmth  of  our  first  few  meetings  I  made  him 
promise  to  bring  his  family  to  stay  with  us  in  the 
country.      But    how  can   we   have   him  along   with 


I42  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY* 

people  like  Astier  and  Lavaux,  who  detest  him  ?  He 
is  so  uncivilised,  such  an  oddity  !  Just  imagine !  He 
is  by  descent  Marquis  de  Vedrine,  but  even  at  school 
he  suppressed  the  title  and  the  '  de,'  additions  coveted 
by  most  people  in  this  democratic  age,  when  every- 
thing else  may  be  got.  And  what  is  his  reason  ? 
Because,  do  you  see,  he  wants  to  be  liked  for  his 
own  sake  !  The  latest  of  him  is  that  the  Princess 
de  Rosen  will  not  take  the  knight,  which  he  has 
done  for  the  Prince's  tomb.  It  was  mentioned  every 
minute  in  the  family,  where  money  is  not  plenty. 
'  When  we  have  sold  the  knight,  I  am  to  have  a 
clockwork  horse,'  said  the  boy.  The  poor  mother 
too  counted  upon  the  knight  for  refurnishing  her 
empty  presses,  and  to  Vedrine  himself  the  price 
of  the  master-piece  meant  just  three  months'  holiday 
in  a  Nile-boat.  Well !  the  knight  not  sold,  or  to 
be  paid  for  heaven  knows  when,  after  a  lawsuit  and 
a  valuation,  if  you  fancy  they  are  thrown  out  by  that, 
you  are  much  mistaken.  When  I  got  to  the  Cour 
des  Comptes  the  day  after  the  disappointment,  I 
found  friend  Vedrine  planted  before  an  easel, 
absorbed  in  pleasure,  sketching  upon  a  large  canvas 
the  curious  wild  vegetation  on  the  burnt  building. 
Behind  him  were  his  wife  and  son  in  ecstasy,  and 
Madame  Vedrine,  with  the  little  girl  in  her  arms,  said 
to  me  in    a  serious  undertone,  '  We  are   so  happy  ; 


ONE   OF   THE   « FORTY '  I43 

Monsieur  V^drine  has  at  last  got  to  oils.'     Is  it  not 
laughable  ?     Is  it  not  touching  ? 

This  piecemeal  letter,  dear,  will  show  you  in  what 
a  bustle  and  fever  I  live  since  I  have  been  working  at 
my  candidature.  I  go  here  and  go  there,  to  '  at  homes,' 
to  dinner  parties,  to  evening  parties.  I  am  even 
supposed  to  be  '  zebra '  to  good  Madame  Ancelin, 
because  I  am  constant  at  her  drawing-room  on 
Fridays,  and  on  Tuesday  evenings  in  her  box  at  the 
Frangais.  A  very  countrified  '  zebra,'  I  am  sure,  in 
spite  of  the  changes  I  have  had  made  to  give  myself 
a  graver  and  more  fashionable  appearance.  You  must 
look  for  a  surprise  when  I  come  back.  Last  Monday 
there  was  a  select  party  at  the  Duchess  Padovani's, 
where  I  had  the  honour  to  be  presented  to  the  Grand- 
Duke  Leopold.  His  Highness  complimented  me  on 
my  last  book-,  and  all  my  books,  which  he  knows  as 
well  as  I  do.  It  is  marvellous  what  foreigners  do 
know.  But  it  is  at  the  Astiers'  that  I  am  most  com- 
fortable. It  is  such  a  primitive,  simple,  united  family. 
One  day,  after  breakfast,  there  arrived  a  new  Academic 
coat  for  the  master,  and  we  tried  it  on  together.  I 
say  '  we,'  for  he  wanted  to  see  how  the  palm  leaves 
looked  upon  me.  I  put  on  the  coat,  hat,  and  sword, 
a  real  sword,  my  dear,  which  comes  out,  and  has  a 
groove  in  the  middle  for  the  blood  to  run  away,  and 
I  assure  you  I  was  struck  with  my  appearance ;  but 


144  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

this  I  tell   you    only  to  show  the  intimacy  of  this 
invaluable  friendship. 

When  I  come  back  to  my  peaceful,  if  narrow, 
quarters,  if  it  is  too  late  to  write  to  you,  I  always  do 
a  little  counting.  On  the  full  list  of  the  Acad<£mie  I 
tick  those  of  whom  I  am  sure,  and  those  who  stand 
by  Dalzon.  Then  I  do  various  sums  in  subtraction 
and  addition.  It  is  an  excellent  amusement,  as  you 
will  see  when  I  show  you.  As  I  was  telling  you, 
Dalzon  has  the  '  dukes,'  but  the  writer  of  the  '  House 
of  Orleans,'  who  is  received  at  Chantilly,  is  to  intro- 
duce me  there  before  long.  If  I  get  on  there — and 
with  this  object  I  am  diligently  studying  a  certain 
engagement  at  Rocroy  ;  so  you  see  your  brother  is 
becoming  deep— well,  if  I  get  on,  the  author  of 
'Without  the  Veil,  printed  at  Eropolis,'  loses  his 
strongest  support.  As  for  my  opinions,  I  do  not  dis- 
avow them.  I  am  a  Republican,  but  not  extreme,  and 
more  particularly  I  am  a  Candidate !  Immediately 
after  this  little  expedition  I  quite  expect  to  come 
back  to  my  darling  Germaine,  who  will,  I  do  hope, 
bear  up  and  think  of  the  happiness  of  the  triumph ! 
We  will  do  it,  dear !  We  will  get  into  the  '  goose's 
garden,'  as  it  is  called  by  that  Bohemian  Ve\drine ; 
but  we  shall  need  endurance. 

Your  loving  brother, 

Abel  de  Freydet. 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTYJ  145 

I  have  opened  my  letter  again  to  say  that  the 
morning  papers  announce  the  death  of  Loisillon. 
The  stroke  of  fate  is  always  affecting,  even  when  fully 
expected.  What  a  sad  event !  What  a  loss  to  French 
literature !  And  unhappily,  dear,  it  will  keep  me  here 
still  longer.  Please  pay  the  labourers.  More  news 
soon. 


146  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Destiny  had  willed  that  Loisillon,  fortunate  always, 
should  be  fortunate  in  dying  at  the  right  moment. 
A  week  later,  when  houses  were  closed,  society  broken 
up,  the  Chamber  and  the  Institute  not  sitting,  his 
funeral  train  would  have  been  composed  of  Academi- 
cians attentive  to  their  tallies,  followed  only  by 
deputies  from  the  numerous  societies  of  which  he 
was  Secretary  or  President.  But  business-like  to  the 
last  and  after,  he  went  off  to  the  moment,  just  before 
the  Grand  Prix,  choosing  a  week  entirely  blank,  when, 
as  there  was  no  crime,  or  duel,  or  interesting  lawsuit, 
or  political  event,  the  sensational  obsequies  of  the 
Permanent  Secretary  would  be  the  only  pastime  of 
the  town. 

The  funeral  mass  was  to  be  at  twelve  o'clock, 
and  long  before  that  hour  an  immense  crowd  was 
gathering  round  St.  Germain  des  Pr£s.  The  traffic 
was  stopped,  and  no  carriages  but  those  of  persons 
invited  were  allowed  to  pass  within  the  rails,  strictly 
kept  by  a  line  of  policemen  posted  at  intervals.  Who 
Loisillon  was,  what  he  had  done  in  his  seventy  years' 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  147 

sojourn  among  mankind,  what  was  the  meaning  of 
the  capital  letter  embroidered  in  silver  on  the  funeral 
drapery,  was  known  to  but  few  in  the  crowd.  The 
one  thing  which  struck  them  was  the  arrangement 
of  the  protecting  line,  and  the  large  space  left  to  the 
dead,  distance,  room,  and  emptiness  being  the  constant 
symbols  of  respect  and  grandeur.  It  had  been  un- 
derstood that  there  would  be  a  chance  of  seeing 
actresses  and  persons  of  notoriety,  and  the  cockneys 
at  a  distance  were  putting  names  to  the  faces  they 
recognised  among  the  groups  conversing  in  front  of 
the  church. 

There,  under  the  black-draped  porch,  was  the 
place  for  hearing  the  true  funeral  oration  on  Loisillon, 
quite  other  than  that  which  was  to  be  delivered  pre- 
sently at  Mont  Parnasse,  and  the  true  article  on  the 
man  and  his  work,  very  different  from  the  notices 
ready  for  to-morrow's  newspapers.  His  work  was  a 
*  Journey  in  Val  d'Andorre,'  and  two  reports  pub- 
lished at  the  National  Press,  relating  to  the  time  when 
he  was  Superintendent  at  the  Beaux-Arts.  The  man 
was  a  sort  of  shrewd  attorney,  creeping  and  cringing, 
with  a  permanent  bow  and  an  apologetic  attitude, 
which  seemed  to  ask  your  pardon  for  his  decorations, 
your  pardon  for  his  insignia,  your  pardon  for  his  place 
in  the  Acaddmie — where  his  experience  as  a  man  of 
business  was  useful  in  fusing  together  a  number  of 

L2 


148  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

different  elements,  with  none  of  which  he  could  well 
have  been  classed — your  pardon  for  the  amazing  suc- 
cess which  had  raised  so  high  such  a  worthless  winged 
grub.  It  was  remembered  that  at  an  official  dinner 
he  had  said  of  himself  complacently,  as  he  bustled 
round  the  table  with  a  napkin  on  his  arm,  '  What  an 
excellent  servant  I  should  have  made ! '  And  it  might 
have  been  written  on  his  tomb. 

And  while  they  moralised  upon  the  nothingness 
of  his  life,  his  corpse,  the  remains  of  nothing,  was 
receiving  the  honours  of  death.  Carriage  after 
carriage  drew  up  at  the  church  ;  liveries  brown  and 
liveries  blue  came  and  disappeared  ;  long-frocked 
footmen  bowed  to  the  pavement  with  a  pompous 
banging  of  doors  and  steps  ;  the  groups  of  journalists 
respectfully  made  way,  now  for  the  Duchess  Padovani, 
stately  and  proud,  now  for  Madame  Ancelin,  bloom- 
ing in  her  crape,  now  for  Madame  Eviza,  whose 
Jewish  eyes  shone  through  her  veil  with  blaze  enough 
to  attract  a  constable — all  the  ladies  of  the  Academie, 
assembled  in  full  congregation  to  practise  their  wor- 
ship, not  so  much  by  a  service  to  the  memory  of 
Loisillon,  as  by  contemplation  of  their  living  idols, 
the  '  deities '  made  and  fashioned  by  the  cunning  of 
their  little  hands,  the  work  upon  which,  as  women, 
they  had  employed  the  superabundance  of  their 
energy,    artfulness,     ambition,     and     pride.      Some 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  149 

actresses  had  come  too,  on  the  pretext  that  the 
deceased  had  been  the  president  of  some  sort  of 
Actors'  Orphanage,  but  moved  in  reality  by  the 
frantic  determination  '  not  to  be  out  of  it,'  which 
belongs  to  their  class.  Their  expressions  of  woe 
were  such  that  they  might  have  been  taken  for  near 
relations.  A  carriage  suddenly  drawing  up  set  down 
a  distracted  group  of  black  veils,  whose  sorrow  was 
distressing  to  witness.  The  widow,  at  last?  No,  it 
is  Marguerite  Ogcr,  the  great  sensational  actress, 
whose  appearance  excites  all  round  the  square  a 
prolonged  stir  and  much  pushing  about.  From  the 
porch  a  journalist  ran  forward  to  meet  her,  and  taking 
her  hands  besought  her  to  bear  up.  '  Yes,'  she  said, 
'  I  ought  to  be  calm  ;  I  will.'  Whereupon,  drying 
her  tears  and  forcing  them  back  with  her  handker- 
chief, she  entered,  or  it  should  rather  be  said  '  went 
on,'  into  the  darkness  of  the  nave,  with  its  back- 
ground of  glimmering  tapers,  fell  down  before  a  desk 
on  the  ladies'  side  in  a  prostration  of  self-abandon- 
ment, and  rising  with  a  sorrowful  air  said  to  another 
actress  at  her  side,  '  How  much  did  they  take  at  the 
Vaudeville  last  night?'  '168/.  iSs.,y  answered  her 
friend,  with  the  same  accent  of  grief. 

Lost  in  the  crowd  at  the  edge  of  the  square,  Abel 
de  Freydet  heard  the  people  round  him  say,  '  It's 
Marguerite.     How  well  she  did   it ! '     But  being  a 


150  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

small  man,  he  was  trying  in  vain  to  make  his  way, 
when  a   hand  was   laid  upon  his  shoulder.     'What, 
still  in    Paris  ?      It  must  be    a  trial   for   your   poor 
sister,'  said  Vedrine,  as  he  carried  him  along.     Work- 
ing  his   way   with    his    strong    elbows    through  the 
stream  of  people  who  only  came  up  to  his  shoulder, 
and  saying  occasionally,   'Excuse  me,  gentlemen — 
members  of  the  family,'  he  brought  to  the  front  with 
him  his  country  friend,  who,  though  delighted  at  the 
meeting,  felt  some    embarrassment,  as  the  sculptor 
talked  after  his  fashion,  freely  and  audibly.     '  Bless 
me,  what    luck  Loisillon  has  !      Why  there  weren't 
more  people  for  Beranger.     This  is  the  sort  of  thing 
to  keep  a  young   man's  pecker  up.'     Here  Freydet, 
seeing    the    hearse    approaching,   took   off    his   hat. 
'  Good  gracious,  what  have  you  done  to  your  head  ? 
Turn  round.     Why  you  look  like  Louis  Philippe!' 
The   poet's  moustache  was    turned    down,  his   hair 
brushed  forward,  and    his   pleasant  face  showed  its 
complexion  of  ruddy  brown  between  whiskers  touched 
with  grey.     He  drew  up  his  short  figure  with  a  stiff 
dignity,  whereat  Vedrine  laughing  said,  '  Ah,  I   see. 
Made  up  for    the  grandees  at  Chantilly  ?     So  you 
are  still  bent  upon  the  Academie  !     Why,  just  look 
at  the  exhibition  yonder.' 

In  the  sunlight  and  on  the  broad  enclosure  the 
official    attendants   immediately   behind    the   hearse 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY'  151 

made  a  shocking  show.  Chance  might  seem  to  have 
chosen  them  for  a  wager  among  the  most  ridiculous 
seniors  in  the  Institute,  and  they  looked  especially 
ugly  in  the  uniform  designed  by  David,  the  coat 
embroidered  with  green,  the  hat,  the  Court  sword, 
beating  against  legs  for  which  the  designer  was  cer- 
tainly not  responsible.  First  came  Gazan  ;  his  hat 
was  tilted  awry  by  the  bumps  of  his  skull,  and  the 
vegetable  green  of  the  coat  threw  into  relief  the 
earthy  colour  and  scaly  texture  of  his  elephantine 
visage.  At  his  side  was  the  grim  tall  Laniboire 
with  purple  apoplectic  veins  and  a  crooked  mouth. 
His  uniform  was  covered  by  an  overcoat  whose 
insufficient  length  left  visible  the  end  of  his  sword 
and  the  tails  of  the  frock,  and  gave  him  an  appear- 
ance certainly  much  less  dignified  than  that  of  the 
marshal  with  his  black  rod,  who  walked  before. 
Those  that  followed,  such  as  Astier-Rehu  and 
Desminieres,  were  all  embarrassed  and  uncomfort- 
able, all  acknowledged  by  their  apologetic  and  self- 
conscious  bearing  the  absurdity  of  their  disguise, 
which,  though  it  might  pass  in  the  chastened  light  of 
their  historic  dome,  seemed  amid  the  real  life  of 
the  street  not  less  laughable  than  a  show  of  monkeys. 
'  I  declare  one  would  like  to  throw  some  nuts  to 
see  if  they  would  go  after  them  on  all  fours,'  said 
Freydet's  undesirable  companion.     But   Freydet  did 


152  ONE   OF   THE  'FORTY' 

not  catch  the  impertinent  remark.  He  slipped  away, 
mixed  with  the  procession,  and  entered  the  church 
between  two  files  of  soldiers  with  arms  reversed.  He 
was  in  his  heart  profoundly  glad  that  Loisillon  was 
dead.  He  had  never  seen  or  known  him  ;  he  could 
not  love  him  for  his  work's  sake,  as  he  had  done  no 
work  ;  and  the  only  thing  for  which  he  could  thank 
him  was  that  he  had  left  his  chair  empty  at  such 
a  convenient  moment.  But  he  was  impressed  not- 
withstanding. The  funeral  pomp  to  which  custom 
makes  the  old  Parisian  indifferent,  the  long  line  of 
knapsacks,  the  muskets  that  fell  on  the  flags  with 
a  single  blow  (at  the  command  of  a  boyish  little 
martinet,  with  a  stock  under  his  chin,  who  was  pro- 
bably performing  on  this  occasion  his  first  military 
duty),  and,  above  all,  the  funeral  music  and  the 
muffled  drums,  filled  him  with  respectful  emotion  : 
and  as  always  happened  when  he  felt  keenly,  rimes 
began  to  rise.  He  had  actually  got  a  good  begin- 
ning, presenting  a  grand  picture  of  the  storm  and 
electric  agitation  and  mental  eclipse  produced  in 
the  atmosphere  of  a  nation  when  one  of  its  great 
men  disappears.  But  he  broke  off  his  thoughts  to 
make  room  for  Danjou,  who,  having  arrived  very 
late,  pushed  on  amid  the  looks  and  whispers  of  the 
ladies,  gazing  about  him  coldly  and  haughtily  and 
passing  his  hand   over  his    head    as    he   habitually 


ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY'  153 

does,  doubtless  to  ascertain  the  safety  of  his  back 
hair. 

'  He  did  not  recognise  me,'  thought  Freydet,  hurt 
by  the  crushing  glance  with  which  the  Academician 
relegated  to  the  ranks  the  nobody  who  had  ventured 
to  greet  him  ;  '  it's  my  whiskers,  I  suppose.'  The 
interruption  turned  the  thoughts  of  the  candidate 
from  his  verses,  and  he  began  to  consider  his  plan 
of  operations,  his  calls,  his  official  announcement  to 
the  Permanent  Secretary.  But  what  was  he  thinking 
of?  The  Permanent  Secretary  was  dead  !  Would 
Astier-Rehu  be  appointed  before  the  vacation  ?  And 
when  would  the  election  be  ?  He  proceeded  to  con- 
sider all  the  details,  down  to  his  coat.  Should  he 
go  to  Astier's  tailor  now  ?  And  did  the  tailor  sup- 
ply also  the  hat  and  sword  ? 

Pie  Jesu,  Domine,  sang  a  voice  behind  the  altar, 
the  swelling  notes  of  an  opera  singer,  asking  repose 
for  Loisillon,  whom  it  might  be  thought  the  Divine 
Mercy  had  destined  to  special  torment,  for  all 
through  the  church,  loud  and  soft,  in  every  variety  of 
voice,  solo  and  in  unison,  came  the  supplication  for 
'  repose,  repose.'  Ah,  let  him  sleep  quietly  after  his 
many  years  of  turmoil  and  intrigue !  The  solemn 
stirring  chant  was  answered  in  the  nave  by  women's 
sobbing,  above  which  rose  the  tragic  convulsive  gasp 
of  Marguerite  Oger,  the  gasp  so  impressive  in  the 


154  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY 

fourth  act  of '  Musidora.'  All  this  lamentation  touched 
the  kind-hearted  candidate  and  linked  itself  in  his 
feelings  to  other  lamentations  and  other  sorrows.  He 
thought  of  relatives  who  had  died,  and  of  his  sister 
who  had  been  a  mother  to  him,  and  who  was  now 
given  up  by  all  the  doctors,  and  knew  it,  and  spoke 
of  it  in  every  letter.  Ah !  would  she  live  even  to 
see  the  day  of  his  success  ?  Tears  blinded  him,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  wipe  his  eyes. 

'  Don't  come  it  too  strong,  it  won't  seem  genuine,' 
said  the  sneering  voice  of  fat  Lavaux,  grinning  close 
at  his  ear.  He  turned  round  angrily ;  but  here  the 
young  officer  gave  at  stentorian  pitch  the  command 
•Carry — arms!'  and  the  bayonets  rattled  on  the 
muskets  while  the  muffled  tones  of  the  organ  rolled 
out  the  'Dead  March.'  The  procession  began  to 
form  for  leaving  the  church,  headed  as  before  by 
Gazan,  Laniboire,  Desminieres,  and  Freydet's  old 
master,  Astier-Rehu.  They  all  looked  superb  now, 
the  parrot  green  of  their  laced  coats  being  subdued 
by  the  dim  religious  light  of  the  lofty  building  as  they 
walked  down  the  central  aisle,  two  and  two,  slowly, 
as  if  loth  to  reach  the  great  square  of  daylight  seen 
through  the  open  doors.  Behind  came  the  whole 
Society,  headed  by  its  senior  member,  the  wonder- 
ful old  Jean  Rehu,  looking  taller  than  ever  in  a  long 
coat,  and  holding  up  the  little  brown  head,  carved, 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  155 

one  might  fancy,  out  of  a  cocoa-nut,  with  an  air  of 
contemptuous  indifference  telling  that  'this  was  a 
thing  he  had  seen '  any  number  of  times  before. 
Indeed  in  the  course  of  the  sixty  years  during  which 
he  had  been  in  receipt  of  the  tallies  of  the  Acad^mie, 
he  must  have  heard  many  such  funeral  chants,  and 
sprinkled  much  holy  water  on  illustrious  biers. 

But  if  Jean  Rehu  was  a  '  deity,'  whose  miraculous 
immortality  justified  the  name,  it  could  only  be 
applied  in  mockery  to  the  band  of  patriarchs  who 
followed  him.  Decrepit,  bent  double,  gnarled  as  old 
apple  trees,  with  feet  of  lead,  limp  legs,  and  blinking 
owlish  eyes,  they  stumbled  along,  either  supported 
on  an  arm  or  feeling  their  way  with  outstretched 
hands  ;  and  their  names  whispered  by  the  crowd 
recalled  works  long  dead  and  forgotten.  Beside  such 
ghosts  as  these,  '  on  furlough  from  the  cemetery,'  as 
was  remarked  by  a  smart  young  soldier  in  the  guard 
of  honour,  the  rest  of  the  Academicians  seemed  young. 
They  posed  and  strutted  before  the  delighted  eyes  of 
the  ladies,  whose  bright  gleams  reached  them  through 
the  black  veils,  the  ranks  of  the  crowd,  and  the 
cloaks  and  knapsacks  of  the  bewildered  soldiers. 
On  this  occasion  again  Freydet,  bowing  to  two  or 
three  'future  colleagues,'  encountered  cold  or  con- 
temptuous smiles,  like  those  which  a  man  sees  when 
he   dreams  that  his   dearest  friends    have  forgotten 


I5&  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

him.  But  he  had  not  time  to  be  depressed,  being 
caught  and  turned  about  by  the  double  stream  which 
moved  up  the  church  and  towards  the  door. 

'  Well,  my  lord,  you  will  have  to  be  stirring  now,' 
was  the  advice  of  friendly  Picheral,  whispered  in  the 
midst  of  the  hubbub  and  the  scraping  of  chairs.  It 
sent  the  candidate's  blood  tingling  through  his  veins. 
But  just  as  he  passed  before  the  bier  Danjou  muttered, 
without  looking  at  him,  as  he  handed  him  the  holy- 
water  brush,  '  Whatever  you  do,  be  quiet,  and  let 
things  slide.'  His  knees  shook  beneath  him.  Bestir 
yourself !  Be  quiet !  Which  advice  was  he  to  take  ? 
Which  was  the  best  ?  Doubtless  his  master,  Astier, 
would  tell  him,  and  he  tried  to  reach  him  outside  the 
church.  It  was  no  easy  task  in  the  confusion  of  the 
court,  where  they  were  forming  the  procession,  and 
lifting  the  coffin  under  its  heap  of  countless  wreaths. 
Never  was  a  scene  more  lively  than  this  coming  out 
from  the  funeral  into  the  brilliant  daylight ;  every- 
where people  were  bowing  and  talking  gossip  quite 
unconnected  with  the  ceremony,  while  the  bright 
expression  on  every  face  showed  the  reaction  after 
a  long  hour's  sitting  still  and  listening  to  melancholy 
music.  Plans  were  made,  meetings  arranged  ;  the 
hurrying  stream  of  life,  stopped  for  a  brief  while, 
impatiently  resumed  its  course,  and  poor  Loisillon 
was  left  far  behind  in  the  past  to  which  he  belonged. 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  157 

'  At  the  Francais  to-night,  don't  forget ;  it's  the 
last  Tuesday,'  simpered  Madame  Ancelin,  while  Paul 
said  to  Lavaux,  '  Are  you  going  to  see  it  through  ? ' 

'  No  ;  I'm  taking  Madame  Eviza  home. ' 

'  Then  come  to  Keyser's  at  six.  We  shall  want 
freshening  after  the  speeches.' 

The  mourning  coaches  were  drawing  up  one  after 
the  other,  while  the  private  carriages  set  off  at  a 
trot.  People  were  leaning  out  of  all  the  windows  in 
the  square,  and  over  towards  the  Boulevard  Saint- 
Germain  men  standing  on  the  stationary  tramcars 
showed  tier  after  tier  of  heads  rising  in  dark  relief 
against  the  blue  sky.  Freydet,  dazzled  by  the  sun, 
tilted  his  hat  over  his  eyes  and  looked  at  the  crowd, 
which  reached  as  far  as  he  could  see.  He  felt 
proud,  transferring  to  the  Aeademie  the  posthumous 
glory  which  certainly  could  not  be  ascribed  to  the 
author  of  the  '  Journey  in  Val  d'Andorre,'  though 
at  the  same  time  he  was  distressed  at  noticing  that 
his  dear  '  future  colleagues '  obviously  kept  him  at  a 
distance,  became  meditative  when  he  drew  near,  or 
turned  away,  making  little  groups  to  keep  out  the 
intruder.  And  these  were  the  very  men  who  only 
two  days  ago  at  Voisin's  had  said  to  him,  '  When 
are  you  going  to  join  us  ? '  But  the  heaviest  blow 
was  the  desertion  of  Astier-Rehu. 

'  What  a  calamity,  sir  ! '  said  Freydet,  coming  up 


}$8  ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY' 

to  him  and  putting  on  a  doleful  expression  for  the 
purpose  of  saying  something  sympathetic.  Astier- 
Rehu,  standing  by  the  hearse,  made  no  answer,  but 
went  on  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  oration  he 
would  shortly  have  to  deliver.  '  What  a  calamity  ! ' 
repeated  Freydet. 

'  My  dear  Freydet,  you  are  indecent,'  said  his 
master,  roughly,  in  a  loud  voice.  And  with  one 
harsh  snap  of  the  jaw  he  betook  himself  again  to 
his  reading. 

Indecent !  What  did  he  mean  ?  The  poor  man 
looked  himself  over,  but  could  find  no  explanation  of 
the  reproach.  What  was  the  matter  ?  What  had  he 
done  ? 

For  some  minutes  he  was  quite  dazed.  Vaguely 
he  saw  the  hearse  start  under  its  shaking  pyramid  of 
flowers,  with  green  coats  at  the  four  corners,  more 
green  coats  behind,  then  all  the  Society,  and  immedi- 
ately following,  but  at  a  respectful  distance,  another 
group,  in  which  he  found  himself  involved  and  carried 
along  he  knew  not  how.  Young  men,  old  men,  all 
terribly  gloomy  and '  depressed,  all  marked  on  the 
brow  with  the  same  deep  furrow,  set  there  by  one 
fixed  idea,  all  expressing  with  their  eyes  the  same 
hatred  and  distrust  of  their  neighbours.  When  he 
had  got  over  his  discomfiture,  and  was  able  to 
identify  these  persons,  he  recognised  the  faded,  hope- 


ONE   OF  THE   'FORTY'  159 

less  face  of  old  Moser,  the  candidate  everlasting ; 
the  honest  expression  of  Dalzon,  the  author  of  '  that 
book/  who  had  failed  at  the  last  election  ;  and  de 
Saleles  ! — and  Guerineau  ! — Why,  they  were  the  '  fish 
in  tow ' !  They  were  the  men  about  whom  the 
Acade^mie  'does  not  trouble  itself/  whom  it  leaves, 
hanging  on  to  a  strong  hook,  to  be  drawn  along  in 
the  wake  of  the  ship  of  fame.  There  they  all  were — 
all  of  them,  poor  drowned  fish! — some  dead  and 
under  the  water  ;  others  still  struggling,  turning  up 
sad  and  greedy  eyes  full  of  an  eager  craving,  never  to 
be  appeased.  And  while  he  vowed  to  himself  to 
avoid  a  similar  fate,  Abel  de  Freydet  followed  the 
bait  and  dragged  at  the  line,  too  firmly  struck  already 
to  get  himself  free. 

Far  away,  along  the  line  cleared  for  the  proces- 
sion, muffled  drums  alternated  with  the  blast  of 
trumpets,  bringing  crowds  of  bystanders  on  the  pave- 
ment and  heads  to  every  window.  Then  the  music 
again  took  up  the  long-drawn  strains  of  the  Hero's 
"March.  In  the  presence  of  so  impressive  a  tribute 
as  this  national  funeral,  this  proud  protest  on  the 
part  of  humanity,  crushed  and  overcome  by  death 
but  decking  defeat  in  magnificence,  it  was  hard  to 
realise  that  all  this  pomp  was  for  Loisillon,  Permanent 
Secretary  of  the  Academie  Franchise — for  nothing, 
servant  to  nothing. 


<60  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Every  day  between  four  and  six,  earliet  of  later 
according  to  the  time  of  year,  Paul  Astier  came  to 
take  his  douche  at  Keyser's  hydropathic  establish- 
ment at  the  top  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Honor^ 
Twenty  minutes'  fencing,  boxing,  or  single-stick 
followed  by  a  bath  and  a  cold  douche ;  then  a  little 
halt  at  the  flower-shop,  as  he  came  out,  to  have  a 
carnation  stitched  in  his  buttonhole ;  then  a  constitu- 
tional as  far  as  the  Arc  de  l'Etoile,  Stenne  and  the 
phaeton  following  close  to  the  footway.  Finally 
came  a  turn  in  the  Bois,  where  Paul,  thanks  to  his 
observance  of  fashionable  hygiene,  displayed  a  femi- 
nine delicacy  of  colouring  and  a  complexion  rivalling 
any  lady's.  By  this  visit  to  Keyser's  he  also  saved 
himself  the  trouble  of  reading  the  papers.  Gossip 
went  on  between  one  dressing-room  and  another,  or 
on  the  lounges  of  the  fencing-room,  where  the  visitors 
sat  in  fencing  dress  or  flannel  dressing-gowns,  or  even 
outside  the  doctor's  door  while  awaiting  the  duuclie. 
From  clubs,  drawing-rooms,  the  Chamber,  the  Bourse, 
or  the  Palais  de  Justice  came  in  the  news  of  the  day, 


ONE  OF  THE   «  FORTY  *  l6l 

and  there  it  was  proclaimed  freely  in  loud  tones,  to 
the  accompaniment  of  the  clashing  of  swords  and 
sticks,  shouts  for  the  waiter,  resounding  slaps  on  bare 
backs,  creaking  of  wheel-chairs  for  rheumatic  patients, 
heavy  plunges  re-echoing  under  the  reverberating 
roof  of  the  swimming-bath,  while  above  the  various 
sounds  of  splashing  and  spurting  water  rose  the  voice 
of  worthy  Dr.  Keyser,  standing  on  his  platform,  and 
the  ever-recurring  burden,  '  Turn  round.' 

On  this  occasion  Paul  Astier  was  '  turning  round  ' 
under  the  refreshing  shower  with  great  enjoyment ; 
he  was  getting  rid  of  the  dust  and  fatigue  of  his 
wearisome  afternoon,  as  well  as  of  the  lugubrious 
sonorities  of  Astier-Rehu's  Academic  regret.  'His 
hour  sounded  upon  the  bell'  ...  'the  hand  of 
Loisillon  was  cold  '  .  .  .  'he  had  drained  the  cup  of 
happiness'  .  .  .  &c,  &c.  Oh  Master!  Master!  oh, 
respected  papa !  It  took  a  good  deal  of  water, 
showers,  streams,  floods  of  it,  to  wash  off  all  that  grimy 
rubbish.  As  he  went  away  with  the  water  running 
off  him,  he  passed  a  tall  figure  bent  double,  coming 
up  from  the  swimming  bath,  which  gave  him  a  shiver- 
ing nod  from  under  a  huge  gutta-percha  cap  covering 
the  head  and  half  the  face.  The  man's  lean  pallor 
and  stiff  stooping  walk  made  Paul  take  him  for 
one  of  the  poor  invalids  who  attend  the  establishment 
regularly,  and  whose  apparition,  silent  as  night-birds^ 

M 


1 62  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

in  the  fencing-room  where  they  come  to  be  weighed, 
contrasts  so  strangely  with  the  healthy  laughter  and 
superabundant  vigour  of  the  rest  of  the  company. 
But  the  contemptuous  curve  of  the  large  nose  and 
the  weary  lines  round  the  mouth  vaguely  recalled 
some  face  he  knew  in  society.  In  his  dressing-room 
he  asked  the  man  who  was  shampooing  him, 
1  Who  was  that,  Raymond,  who  bowed  to  me  just 
now?' 

'Why,  that's  the  Prince  d'Athis,  sir,'  replied 
Raymond,  with  a  plebeian's  satisfaction  in  uttering 
the  word  '  prince.'  '  He  has  been  taking  douches  for 
some  time  past,  and  generally  comes  in  the  morning. 
But  he  is  later  to-day,  on  account  of  a  burial,  so  he 
told  Joseph.' 

The  door  of  Paul's  dressing-room  was  partly  open 
during  this  dialogue,  and  in  the  room  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  passage  was  visible  Lavaux.  As  he  pulled 
on  and  buckled  his  long  clerical  hose,  he  said,  '  I  say, 
Paul,  did  you  see  Sammy  coming  to  freshen  himself 
up  a  bit?' 

« Freshen  himself  up  ? '  said  Paul.     '  What  for  ? ' 
'  He's   going  to  be  married  in  a  fortnight,  you 
know.' 

'  Oh  !     And  when  does  he  go  to  his  Embassy  ? ' 
'  Why,  now,  at  once.     The  Princess  has  started. 
They  are  to  be  married  out  there.' 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  163 

Paul  had  a  horrid  presentiment.  '  The  Princess  ?  ' 
he  asked.     '  Whom  is  he  going  to  marry  ? ' 

'  Where  have  you  been  ?  It's  been  the  talk  of 
Paris  for  the  last  two  days !  Colette,  of  course  ; 
Colette  the  inconsolable.  I  should  like  to  see  what 
the  Duchess  looks  like.  At  the  Loisillon  affair  she 
carried  herself  well,  but  never  lifted  her  veil  or  spoke 
a  word.  It's  a  tough  bit  to  swallow,  eh  ?  When 
you  think  that  only  yesterday  I  was  helping  her  to 
choose  materials  for  the  room  he  was  to  have  at  St. 
Petersburg ! ' 

The  ill-natured  unctuous  voice  of  the  fashionable 
scandalmonger  went  on  with  the  story  as  he  finished 
buckling  his  garters,  accompanied  by  the  sound  of  a 
douche  two  boxes  off,  and  the  Prince's  voice  saying, 
'  Harder,  Joseph,  harder,  don't  be  afraid.'  Freshening 
himself  up,  was  he  ? 

Paul  had  crossed  the  passage  as  soon  as  Lavaux 
began  to  talk,  that  he  might  hear  better.  He  was 
seized  with  a  wild  desire  to  kick  in  the  door  of  the 
Prince's  room,  spring  on  him,  and  have  an  explanation 
face  to  face  with  the  scoundrel  who  was  stealing  the 
fortune  almost  in  his  grasp.  Suddenly  he  perceived 
that  he  had  nothing  on,  reflected  that  his  wrath  was 
ill-timed,  and  went  back  to  his  room,  where  he  calmed 
down  a  little  as  he  realised  that  the  first  thing  to  do 

M2 


164  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

was  to  have  a  talk  with  his  mother  and  find  out 
exactly  how  matters  stood. 

That  afternoon,  for  once,  he  had  no  flower  in  his 
buttonhole,  and  while,  as  the  stream  of  carriages  went 
past,  the  ladies  looked  languidly  for  the  charming 
young  man  in  the  usual  row,  he  was  driving  rapidly 
to  the  Rue  de  Beaune.  There  he  was  greeted  by 
Corentine  with  bare  arms  and  a  dirty  apron.  She 
had  taken  the  opportunity  of  her  mistress's  absence 
to  have  a  great  clean-up. 

'  Do  you  know  where  my  mother  is  dining  ? ' 

No,  her  mistress  had  not  told  her.  But  the 
master  was  upstairs,  rummaging  in  his  papers.  The 
little  staircase  leading  to  the  paper-room  creaked 
under  Leonard  Astier's  heavy  tread. 

'  Is  that  you,  Paul  ?'  he  asked. 

The  dim  light  of  the  passage  and  his  own  agita- 
tion prevented  the  young  man  from  noticing  his 
father's  extraordinary  appearance  and  the  dazed 
sound  of  his  voice  when  he  answered. 

•  How's  the  Master  ?  '  said  the  son — '  So  mamma's 
not  in  ? ' 

'No,  she  is  dining  with  Madame  Ancelin  and 
going  on  to  the  Frangais ;  I  am  to  join  them  in  the 
evening.' 

After  this  the  father  and  son  had  nothing  further 
to  say  to  each  other.     They  met  like  two  strangers, 


ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY'  165 

like  two  men  of  hostile  races.  On  this  occasion, 
indeed,  Paul  in  his  impatience  was  half  inclined  to 
ask  Leonard  whether  he  knew  anything  about  the 
marriage  ;  but  he  thought  the  next  minute, '  No,  he 
is  too  stupid  ;  mother  would  never  say  a  word  to 
him.'  His  father,  who  was  also  strongly  tempted  to 
put  a  question,  called  him  back  with  an  air  of  em- 
barrassment. 

'  Paul,'  he  said,  '  I  have  lost — I  can't  find ' 

'  Can't  find  what  ? '  asked  the  son. 

Astier-Rehu  hesitated  a  moment  ;  but  after  look- 
ing closely  at  the  pretty  face,  whose  expression,  on 
account  of  the  bend  in  the  nose,  was  never  perfectly 
straightforward,  he  added  in  a  gloomy,  surly  tone — 

'  No,  nothing  ;  it  does  not  matter.  I  won't  keep 
you.' 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  meet  his  mother 
at  the  theatre  in  Madame  Ancelin's  box.  That  meant 
two  or  three  hours  to  be  got  through  first.  Paul 
dismissed  his  carriage  and  ordered  Stenne  to  bring 
him  his  dress  things  at  his  club.  Then  he  started 
for  a  stroll  through  the  city  in  a  faint  twilight,  while 
the  clipped  shrubs  of  the  Tuileries  Gardens  assumed 
brighter  colours  as  the  sky  grew  dark  around  them. 
It  was  the  mystic  hour  so  precious  to  people  pursuing 
dreams  or  making  plans.  The  carriages  grow  fewer, 
the  shadowy  figures  hurry  by  and  touch  the  stroller 


166  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY* 

lightly.  There  is  no  interruption  to  the  flow  of  a 
man's  thoughts.  So  the  ambitious  young  fellow,  who 
had  quite  recovered  his  presence  of  mind,  carried  on 
his  reflections  clearly.  His  thoughts  were  like  those 
of  Napoleon  at  the  last  hour  of  the  battle  of  Water- 
loo :  after  a  long  day  of  success  defeat  had  come 
with  night.  What  was  the  reason  ?  What  mistake 
had  he  made  ?  He  replaced  the  pieces  on  the  chess- 
board, and  looked  for  the  explanation  of  failure,  but 
in  vain.  It  had  perhaps  been  rash  of  him  to  let  two 
days  pass  without  seeing  her.  But  it  was  the  most 
elementary  rule  that  after  such  a  scene  as  that  in 
the  cemetery  a  woman  should  be  left  to  herself  to 
recover.  How  was  he  to  foresee  this  sudden  flight  ? 
Suddenly  a  hope  flashed  upon  him.  He  knew  that 
the  Princess  changed  her  plan  as  often  as  a  bird  its 
perch.  Perhaps  she  might  not  yet  have  gone  ;  per- 
haps he  should  find  her  in  the  midst  of  preparations, 
unhappy,  undecided,  asking  Herbert's  portrait  for 
advice,  and  should  win  her  back  by  one  embrace. 
He  understood  and  could  follow  now  all  the  capri- 
cious turns  of  the  romance  which  had  been  going 
on  in  her  little  head. 

He  took  a  cab  to  the  Rue  de  Courcelles.  Nobody 
there.  The  Princess  had  gone  abroad,  they  told  him, 
that  very  morning.  A  terrible  fit  of  despair  came 
over  him,  and  he  went  home  instead  of  to  the  club, 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  1 67 

so  as  not  to  have  to  talk  and  answer  questions. 
His  spirits  sank  even  lower  at  the  sight  of  his  great 
mediaeval  erection  and  its  front,  in  the  style  of  the 
Tour  de  la  Faint,  all  covered  with  bills  ;  it  suggested 
the  piles  of  overdue  accounts.  As  he  felt  his  way 
in,  he  was  greeted  by  a  smell  of  fried  onions  filling 
the  whole  place ;  for  his  spruce  little  valet  on  nights 
when  his  master  dined  at  the  club  would  cook  him- 
self a  tasty  dish.  A  gleam  of  daylight  still  lingered 
in  the  studio,  and  Paul  flung  himself  down  on  a 
sofa.  There,  as  he  was  trying  to  think  by  what  ill- 
luck  his  artfullest,  cleverest  designs  had  been  upset, 
he  fell  asleep  for  a  couple  of  hours  and  woke  up 
another  man.  Just  as  memory  gains  in  sharpness 
during  the  sleep  of  the  body,  so  had  his  determina- 
tion and  talent  for  intrigue  gone  on  acting  during  his 
short  rest.  He  had  found  a  new  plan,  and  moreover 
a  calm  fixity  of  resolution,  such  as  among  the  modern 
youth  of  France  is  very  much  more  rarely  met  with 
than  courage  under  arms. 

He  dressed  rapidly  and  took  a  couple  of  eggs  and 
a  cup  of  tea ;  and  when,  with  a  faint  odour  of  the 
warm  curling-iron  about  his  beard  and  moustaches, 
he  entered  the  Theatre  Frangais  and  gave  Madame 
Ancelin's  name  at  the  box-office,  the  keenest  observer 
would  have  failed  to  detect  any  absorbing  preoccu- 
pation in  the  perfect  gentleman  of  fashion,  and  would 


1 65  ©NE  OF   THE  'FORTY' 

never  have  guessed  the  contents  of  this  pretty 
drawing-room  article,  black-and-white  lacquered,  and 
well  locked. 

Madame  Ancelin's  worship  of  official  literature 
had  two  temples,  the  Academie  Frangaise  and  the 
Comedie  Franchise.  But  the  first  of  these  places 
being  open  to  the  pious  believer  only  at  uncertain 
periods,  she  made  the  most  of  the  second,  and 
attended  its  services  with  great  regularity.  She 
never  missed  a  '  first  night/  whether  important  or 
unimportant,  nor  any  of  the  Subscribers'  Tuesdays. 
And  as  she  read  no  books  but  those  stamped  with 
the  hall-mark  of  the  Academie,  so  the  actors  at  the 
Comedie  were  the  only  players  to  whom  she  listened 
with  enthusiasm,  with  excited  ejaculations  and  rap- 
turous amazement.  Her  exclamations  began  at  the 
box-office,  at  the  sight  of  the  two  great  marble  fonts, 
which  the  good  lady's  fancy  had  set  up  before  the 
statues  of  Rachel  and  Talma  in  the  entrance  to  the 
'  House  of  Moliere.' 

'  Don't  they  look  after  it  well  ?  Just  look  at  the 
door-keepers  !     What  a  theatre  it  is  ! ' 

The  jerky  movements  of  her  short  arms  and  the 
puffing  of  her  fat  little  body  diffused  through  the 
passage  a  sense  of  noisy  gleefulness  which  made 
people  say  in  every  box,  '  Here's  Madame  Ancelin  ! ' 
On  Tuesdays  especially,  the  fashionable  indifference 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  169 

of  the  house  contrasted  oddly  with  the  seat  where,  in 
supreme  content,  leaning  half  out  of  the  box,  sat 
and  cooed  this  good  plump  pink-eyed  pigeon,  piping 
away  audibly,  '  Look  at  Coquelin  !  Look  at  De- 
launay !  What  perennial  youth  !  What  an  admir- 
able theatre  ! '  She  never  allowed  her  friends  to 
talk  of  anything  else,  and  in  the  entr'actes  greeted 
her  visitors  with  exclamations  of  rapture  over  the 
genius  of  the  Academic  playwright  and  the  grace  of 
the  Actress-Associate. 

At  Paul  Astier's  entrance  the  curtain  was  up ; 
and  knowing  that  the  ritual  of  Madame  Ancelin  re- 
quired absolute  silence  at  such  a  time,  he  waited 
quietly  in  the  little  room,  separated  by  a  step  from 
the  front  of  the  box,  where  Madame  Ancelin  was 
seated  in  bliss  between  Madame  Astier  and  Madame 
Eviza,  while  behind  were  Danjou  and  De  Freydet 
looking  like  prisoners.  The  click,  which  the  box -door 
made  and  must  make  in  shutting,  was  followed  by  a 
'  Hush ! '  calculated  to  appai  the  intruder  who  was 
disturbing  the  service.  Madame  Astier  half  turned 
round,  and  felt  a  shiver  at  the  sight  of  her  son.  What 
was  the  matter  ?  What  had  Paul  to  say  to  her  of 
such  pressing  importance  as  to  bring  him  to  that 
haunt  of  boredom — Paul,  who  never  let  himself  be 
bored  without  a  reason  ?  Money  again,  no  doubt, 
horrid    money  !      Well,  fortunately  she  would  soon 


I70  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

have  plenty ;  Sammy's  marriage  would  make  them 
all  rich.  Much  as  she  longed  to  go  up  to  Paul  and 
reassure  him  with  the  good  news,  which  perhaps  he 
had  not  heard,  she  was  obliged  to  stay  in  her  seat, 
look  on  at  the  play,  and  join  as  chorus  in  her  hostess's 
exclamations,  '  Look  at  Coquelin !  Look  at  De- 
launay !  Oh  !  Oh ! '  It  was  a  hard  trial  to  her  to 
have  to  wait.  So  it  was  to  Paul,  who  could  see 
nothing  but  the  glaring  heat  of  the  footlights,  and 
in  the  looking-glass  at  the  side  the  reflection  of  part 
of  the  house,  stalls,  dress-circle,  boxes,  rows  of  faces, 
pretty  dresses,  bonnets,  all  as  it  were  drowned  in 
a  blue  haze,  and  presenting  the  colourless  ghostly 
appearance  of  things  dimly  seen  under  water.  During 
the  entr'acte  came  the  usual  infliction  of  indiscrimi- 
nate praise. 

Monsieur  Paul !  Di'  y'  see  Reichemberg's  dress  ? 
Di'  y'  see  the  pink-bead  apron?  and  the  ribbon 
ruching  ?  Di'  y'  see  ?  This  is  the  only  place  where 
they  know  how  to  dress,  that  it  is ! ' 

Visitors  began  to  come,  and  the  mother  was  able 
to  get  hold  of  her  son  and  carry  him  off  to  the  sofa. 
There,  in  the  midst  of  wraps  and  the  bustle  of  people 
going  out,  they  spoke  in  low  voices  with  their  heads 
close  together. 

'  Answer  me  quickly  and  clearly,'  began  Paul. 
*  Is  Sammy  going  to  be  married  ? ' 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY'  171 

'  Yes,  the  Duchess  heard  yesterday.  But  she  has 
come  here  to-night  all  the  same.     Corsican  pride  ! ' 

'  And  whom  has  he  caught  ?  Can  you  tell  me 
now? ' 

•  Why,  Colette,  of  course  !  You  must  have  had  a 
suspicion.' 

'  Not  the  least,'  said  Paul.  '  And  what  shall  you 
get  for  it  ? ' 

She  murmured  triumphantly,  '  Eight  thousand 
pounds ! ' 

'  Well,  by  your  schemes  I  have  lost  a  million  ! — : 
a  million,  and  a  wife  ! '  He  grasped  her  by  the  wrists 
in  his  anger,  and  hissed  into  her  face,  'You  selfish 
marplot ! ' 

The  news  took  away  her  breath  and  her  senses. 
It  was  Paul  then,  Paul,  from  whom  proceeded  the 
force  which  acted,  as  she  had  occasionally  perceived, 
against  her  influence ;  it  was  Paul  whom  the  little 
fool  was  thinking  of  when  she  said,  sobbing  in  her 
arms,  '  If  you  only  knew ! '  And  now,  just  at  the 
end  of  the  mines  which  with  so  much  cunning  and 
skilful  patience  they  had  each  been  driving  towards 
the  treasure,  one  last  stroke  of  the  axe  had  brought 
them  face  to  face,  empty-handed  !  They  sat  silent, 
looking  at  each  other,  with  corresponding  crooks  in 
their  noses  and  the  same  fierce  gleam  in  both  pairs 
of  grey  eyes,  while  all  around  them  were  the  stir  of 


172  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY' 

people  coming  and  going  and  the  buzz  of  conver- 
sation. Rigid  indeed  is  the  discipline  of  society, 
seeing  that  it  could  repress  in  these  two  creatures  all 
the  cries  and  groans,  all  the  desire  to  roar  and  slay, 
which  filled  and  shook  their  hearts.  Madame  Astier 
was  the  first  to  express  her  thoughts  aloud  : 

'  If  only  the  Princess  were  not  gone  ! ' 

And  she  writhed  her  lips  with  rage  at  the  thought 
that  the  sudden  departure  had  been  her  own  sug- 
gestion. 

'  We  will  get  her  back,'  said  Paul. 

'  How  ? ' 

Without  answering  her  question,  he  asked,  '  Is 
Sammy  here  to-night?' 

'  Oh,  I  don't   think   so,   as  she  is Where  are 

you  going  ?  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ?' 

'  Keep  quiet,  won't  you  ?  Don't  interfere.  You 
are  too  unlucky  for  me.' 

He  left  with  a  crowd  of  visitors  who  were  driven 
away  by  the  end  of  the  entr'acte,  and  she  went  back 
to  her  seat  on  Madame  Ancelin's  left.  Her  hostess 
worshipped  with  the  same  ecstasy  as  before,  and  it 
was  one  perpetual  giving  of  thanks. 

'  Oh,  look  at  Coquelin  !  What  humour  he  has  ! 
My  dear,  do  look  at  him  ! ' 

*  My  dear '  was  indeed  not  attending ;  her  eyes 
wandered,  and  on  her  lips  was  the  painful  smile  of  a 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  173 

dancer  hissed  off  the  boards.  With  the  excuse  that 
the  footlights  dazzled  her,  she  was  turning  every 
moment  towards  the  audience  to  look  for  her  son. 
Perhaps  there  would  be  a  duel  with  the  Prince,  if  he 
was  there.  And  all  her  fault — all  through  her  stupid 
bungling. 

4  Ah,  there's  Delaunay!  Di'  y' see  him?  Di' y' 
see?' 

No,  she  had  seen  nothing  but  the  Duchess's  box, 
where  some  one  had  just  come  in,  with  a  youthful 
elegant  figure,  like  her  Paul.  But  it  was  the  little 
Count  Adriani,  who  had  heard  of  the  rupture  like 
the  rest  of  Paris  and  was  already  tracking  the  game. 
Through  the  rest  of  the  play  the  mother  ate  her 
heart  out  in  misery,  turning  over  innumerable  con- 
fused plans  for  the  future,  mixed  in  her  thoughts  with 
past  events  and  scenes  which  ought  to  have  fore- 
warned her.  Stupid,  how  stupid  of  her !  How  had 
she  failed  to  guess? 

At  last  came  the  departure,  but  oh  how  long  it 
took  !  She  had  to  stop  every  moment,  to  bow  or 
smile  to  her  friends,  to  say  good-bye.  'What  are 
you  going  to  do  this  summer  ?  Do  come  and  see 
us  at  Deauville.'  All  down  the  narrow  passage 
crammed  with  people,  where  ladies  finish  putting  on 
their  wraps  with  a  pretty  movement  to  make  sure 
of  their  ear-rings,  all  dewn  the  white  marble  staircase 


174  ONE  of  THE  'forty' 

to  the  men-servants  waiting  at  the  foot,  the  mother, 
as  she  talks,  still  watches,  listens,  tries  to  catch  in 
the  hum  of  the  great  fashionable  swarm  dispersing 
for  some  months  a  word  or  hint  of  a  scene  that 
evening  in  a  box.  Here  comes  the  Duchess,  haughty 
and  erect  in  her  long  white  and  gold  mantle,  taking 
the  arm  of  the  young  officer  of  the  Papal  Guard. 
She  knows  the  shabby  trick  her  friend  has  played 
her,  and  as  the  two  women  pass  they  exchange  a 
cold  expressionless  glance  more  to  be  dreaded  than 
the  most  violent  expletive  of  a  fishwoman.  They 
know  now  what  to  think  of  each  other ;  they  know 
that  in  the  poisoned  warfare,  which  is  to  succeed 
their  sisterly  intimacy,  every  blow  will  tell,  will  be 
directed  to  the  right  spot  by  practised  hands.  But 
they  discharge  the  task  imposed  by  society,  and  both 
wear  the  same  mask  of  indifference,  so  that  the 
masterful  hate  of  the  one  can  meet  and  strike  against 
the  spiteful  hate  of  the  other  without  producing  a 
spark. 

Downstairs,  in  the  press  of  valets  and  young 
clubmen,  Leonard  Astier  was  waiting,  as  he  had 
promised,  for  his  wife.  '  Ah,  there  is  the  great  man  ! ' 
exclaimed  Madame  Ancelin  ;  and  with  a  final  dip  of 
her  fingers  into  the  holy  water  she  scattered  it 
around  her  broadcast,  over  the  great  Astier-Rehu, 
the   great    Danjou,  and    Coquelin,  you   know !    and 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  175 

Delaunay,  you  know  !  Oh  !  Oh  !  Oh  ! — Astier  did 
not  reply,  but  followed  with  his  wife  on  his  arm  and 
his  collar  turned  up  against  the  draught.  It  was 
raining.  Madame  Ancelin  offered  to  take  them  home; 
but  it  was  only  with  the  conventional  politeness  of 
a  '  carriage '  lady  afraid  of  tiring  her  horses  and 
still  more  afraid  of  her  coachman's  temper  (she  has 
invariably  the  best  coachman  in  Paris).  Besides,  '  the 
great  man '  had  a  cab ;  and  without  waiting  for  the 
lady's  benediction— 'Ah,  well,  we  know  you  two  like 
to  be  alone.  Ah!  what  a  happy  household !' -he 
dragged  off  Madame  Astier  along  the  wet  and  dirty 
colonnade. 

When,  at  the  end  of  a  ball  or  evening  party,  a 
fashionable  couple  drive  off  in  their  carriage,  the 
question  always  suggests  itself,  '  Now  what  will  they 
say  ? '  Not  much  usually,  for  the  man  generally 
comes  away  from  this  kind  of  festivity  weary  and 
knocked  up,  while  the  lady  continues  the  party  in 
the  darkness  of  the  carriage  by  inward  comparisons 
of  her  dress  and  her  looks  with  those  she  has  just 
seen,  and  makes  plans  for  the  arrangement  of  her 
drawing-room  or  a  new  costume.  Still  the  restraint 
of  feature  required  by  society  is  so  excessive,  and 
fashionable  hypocrisy  has  reached  such  a  height,  that 
it  would  be  interesting  to  be  present  at  the  moment 
when  the  conventional  attitude  is  relaxed,  to  hear  the 


17^  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY* 

real  natural  tone  of  voice,  and  to  realise  the  actual 
relations  of  the  beings  thus  suddenly  released  from 
trammels  and  sent  rolling  home  in  the  light  of  their 
brougham  lamps  through  the  empty  streets  of  Paris. 
In  the  case  of  the  Astiers  the  return  home  was 
very  characteristic.      The  moment  they  were  alone 
the   wife   laid   aside   the    deference   and    pretended 
interest  exhibited  towards  the  Master  in  society,  and 
spoke  her  mind,  compensating  herself  in  so  doing  for 
the  attention  with  which   she   had    listened   for  the 
hundredth  time   to   old  stories  which  bored  her   to 
death.      The   husband,   kindly    by    disposition    and 
accustomed  to  think   well  of  himself  and  everyone 
else,  invariably  came  home  in  a  state  of  bliss,  and 
was  horrified  at  the  malicious  comments  of  his  wife 
on  their  hosts  and  the  guests  they  had  met.    Madame 
Astier  would  utter  calmly  the  most  shocking  accusa- 
tions, exaggerating  gossip  in  the  light  unconscious 
way    which    is    characteristic    of    Parisian    society. 
Rather  than  stimulate  her  he  would  hold  his  tongue 
and  turn  round  in  his  corner  to  take  a  little  doze. 
But  on  this    evening    Leonard    sat   down    straight, 
regardless  of  the  sharp  '  Do  mind  my  dress  ! '  which 
showed  that  somebody's  skirts  were  being  crumpled. 
What   did    he    care   about  her   dress  ?      '  I've   been 
robbed  ! '  he  said,  in  such  a  tone  that  the  windows 
rattled. 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  1 77 

Oh  dear,  the  autographs !  She  had  not  been 
thinking  of  them,  least  of  all  just  now,  when  tor- 
mented by  very  different  anxieties,  and  there  was 
nothing  feigned  in  her  surprise. 

Robbed — yes,  robbed  of  his  '  Charles-the-Fifths,' 
the  three  best  things  in  his  collection  !  But  the  as- 
surance which  made  his  attack  so  violent  died  out 
of  his  voice,  and  his  suspicion  hesitated,  at  the  sight 
of  Adelaide's  surprise.  Meanwhile  she  recovered 
her  self-possession.  '  But  whom  do  you  suspect  ? ' 
Corentine,  she  thought,  was  trustworthy.  Teyssedre? 
It  was  hardly  likely  that  an  ignorant 

Teyssedre  !  He  exclaimed  at  it,  the  thing  seemed 
so  obvious.  Helped  by  his  hatred  for  the  man  of 
polish,  he  soon  began  to  see  how  the  crime  had  come 
about,  and  traced  it  step  by  step  from  a  chance 
allusion  at  dinner  to  the  value  of  his  documents, 
heard  by  Corentine  and  repeated  in  all  innocence. 
Ah,  the  scoundrel !  Why,  he  had  the  skull  of  a 
criminal  !  Foolish  to  struggle  against  the  intima- 
tions of  instinct !  There  must  be  something  out  of 
the  common,  when  a  floor-polisher  could  arouse  so 
strange  an  antipathy  in  a  member  of  the  Institute ! 
Ah,  well,  the  dolt  was  done  for  now !  He  should 
catch  it !  '  My  three  Charleses  !  Only  fancy  ! '  He 
wanted  to  inform  the  police  at  once,  before  going 
home.     His  wife  tried  to  prevent  him.      'Are  you 

N 


178  ONE   OF   THE   (  FORTY  ' 

out  of  your  mind  ?  Go  to  the  police-station  after 
midnight  ? '  But  he  insisted,  and  thrust  his  great 
numskull  out  into  the  rain  to  give  orders  to  the 
driver.  She  was  obliged  to  pull  him  back  with  an 
effort,  and  feeling  too  much  exhausted  to  carry 
on  the  lie,  to  let  him  say  his  say  and  bring  him 
round  gradually,  she  came  out  with  the  whole 
truth. 

'It's  not  Teyssedre — it's  I!  There!'  At  one 
breath  she  poured  out  the  story  of  her  visit  to  Bos, 
the  money  she  had  got,  the  800/.,  and  the  neces- 
sity for  it.  The  silence  which  ensued  was  so  long 
that  at  first  she  thought  he  had  had  a  fit  of  apoplexy. 
It  was  not  that ;  but  like  a  child  that  falls  or  hits 
itself,  poor  Crocodilus  had  opened  his  mouth  so  wide 
to  let  out  his  anger,  and  taken  so  deep  a  breath,  that 
he  could  not  utter  a  sound.  At  last  came  a  roar 
that  filled  the  Carrousel,  where  their  cab  was  at  that 
minute  splashing  through  the  pools. 

'  Robbed,  robbed  !  Robbed  by  my  wife  for  the 
sake  of  her  son  ! '  In  his  insane  fury  he  jumbled 
together  indiscriminately  the  abusive  patois  of  his 
native  hillside,  'Ah  la  gar  so  !  Ah  li  bougri!*  with 
the  classical  exclamations  of  Harpagon  bewailing  his 
casket.  Justice,  justice  du  ciel ! '  and  other  select  ex- 
tracts often  recited  to  his  pupils.  It  was  as  light  as 
day  in  the   bright   rays  of   the   tall    electric    lamps 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  1 79 

standing  round  the  great  square,  over  which,  as  the 
theatres  were  emptying,  omnibuses  and  carriages 
were  now  passing  in  all  directions. 

'Do  be  quiet,'  said  Madame  Astier;  'everyone 
knows  you.' 

'  Except  you,  Madame  ! ' 

She  thought  he  was  going  to  beat  her,  and  in  the 
strained  condition  of  her  nerves  it  might  perhaps 
have  been  a  relief.  But  under  the  terror  of  a  scandal 
he  suddenly  quieted  down,  swearing  finally  by  his 
mother's  ashes  that  as  soon  as  he  got  home  he  would 
pack  up  his  trunk  and  go  straight  off  to  Sauvagnat, 
leaving  his  wife  to  depart  with  her  scoundrelly  pro- 
digal and  live  on  their  spoils. 

Once  more  the  deep  old  box  with  its  big  nails 
was  brought  hastily  from  the  anteroom  into  the 
study.  A  few  billets  of  wood  were  still  left  in  it 
from  the  winter's  supply,  but  the  'deity'  did  not 
change  his  purpose  for  that.  For  an  hour  the  house 
resounded  with  the  rolling  of  logs  and  the  banging 
of  cupboard  doors,  as  he  flung  among  the  sawdust 
and  bits  of  dry  bark  linen,  clothes,  boots,  and  even 
the  green  coat  and  embroidered  waistcoat  of  the 
Academic  full  dress,  carefully  put  away  in  napkins. 
His  wrath  was  relieved  by  this  operation,  and 
diminished  as  he  filled  his  trunk,  till  his  last  resentful 
grumblings  died  away  when  it  occurred  to  him  that, 

M2 


180  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

fixed  as  he  was  to  his  place,  to  uproot  himself  was 
utterly  impossible.  Meanwhile  Madame  Astier,  sit- 
ting on  the  edge  of  an  armchair  in  her  dressing- 
gown,  with  a  lace  wrap  round  her  head,  watched  his 
proceedings  and  murmured  between  yawn  and  yawn 
with  placid  irony,  «  Really,  Leonard,  really  ! ' 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  l8l 


CHAPTER  X. 

'  My  notion  is  that  people,  like  things,  have  a  right 
and  a  wrong  way  up,  and  there's  always  a  place  to  get 
hold  of,  if  you  want  to  have  a  good  control  and  grasp 
of  them.  I  know  where  the  place  is,  and  that's  my 
power !  Driver,  to  the  Tete  Noire.'  At  Paul  Astier's 
order  the  open  carriage/in  which  the  three  tall  hats 
belonging  to  Freydet,  Vedrine,  and  himself  rose  in 
funereal  outline  against  the  brightness  of  the  after- 
noon landscape,  drew  up  on  the  right-hand  side  of 
the  bridge  at  St.  Cloud,  in  front  of  the  inn  he  had 
named.  Every  jolt  of  the  hired  conveyance  over  the 
paving  of  the  square  brought  into  sight  an  ominous 
long  case  of  green  baize  projecting  beyond  the 
lowered  hood  of  the  carriage.  Paul  had  chosen,  as 
seconds  for  this  meeting  with  D'Athis,  first  the 
Vicomte  de  Freydet,  on  account  of  his  title  and  his 
'  de,'  and  with  him  the  Count  Adriani.  But  the  Papal 
Embassy  was  afraid  of  adding  another  scandal  to  the 
recent  affair  of  the  Cardinal's  hat,  and  he  had  been 
obliged  to  find  a  substitute  for  Pepino  in  the  sculptor, 
who  would  perhaps  allow  himself  at  the  last  minute 


1 82  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

to  be  described  in  the  official  statement  as  '  Marquis.' 
The  matter,  however,  was  not  supposed  to  be  serious, 
only  a  quarrel  at  the  club  over  the  card-table, 
where  the  Prince  had  taken  a  hand  for  a  last  game 
before  leaving  Paris.  The  affair  could  not  be  hushed 
up  ;  it  was  specially  impossible  to  cave  in  to  a  fight- 
ing man  like  Paul  Astier,  who  had  a  great  reputation 
in  fencing  rooms,  and  whose  records  were  framed  and 
hung  in  the  shooting-gallery  in  the  Avenue  d'Antin. 

While  the  carriage  waited  by  the  terrace  of  the 
restaurant,  and  the  waiters  unobtrusively  bestowed  on 
it  knowing  glances,  down  a  steep  little  path  came 
rolling  a  short,  fat  man,  with  the  white  spats,  white 
tie,  silk  hat,  and  captivating  air  of  the  doctor  of  a 
fashionable  watering-place.  He  made  signals  from 
the  distance  with  his  sunshade.  'There's  Gomes,' 
said  Paul.  Doctor  Gomes,  formerly  on  the  resident 
staff  of  one  of  the  Paris  hospitals,  had  been  ruined  by 
play  and  an  old  attachment.  Now  he  was  '  Uncle 
Gomes,'  and  had  an  irregular  practice  ;  not  a  bad 
fellow,  but  one  who  would  stick  at  nothing,  and  had 
made  a  specialty  of  affairs  like  the  present.  Fee, 
two  guineas  and  breakfast.  Just  now  he  was  spend- 
ing his  holiday  with  Cloclo  at  Ville  d'Avray,  and  came 
puffing  to  the  meeting  place,  carrying  a  little  bag 
which  held  his  instrument  case,  medicines,  bandages, 
splints — enough  to  set  up  an  ambulance. 


ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY'  1 83 

'  Is  it  to  be  scratch  or  wound  ? '  he  asked,  as  he 
took  his  seat  in  the  carriage  opposite  Paul. 

'  Scratch,  of  course,  doctor,  scratch,  with  swords  of 
the  Institute.  The  Acadcmie  Franchise  against  the 
Sciences  Morales  et  Politiques.' 

Gomes  smiled  as  he  steadied  his  bag  between  his 
knees. 

( I  did  not  know,  so  I  brought  the  big  apparatus.' 

'Well,  you  must  display  it ;  it  will  impress  the 
enemy,'  suggested  Vedrine,  in  his  quiet  way. 

The  doctor  winked,  a  little  put  out  by  the  two 
seconds,  whose  faces  were  unknown  to  the  boulevards, 
and  to  whom  Paul  Astier,  who  treated  him  like  a 
servant,  did  not  even  introduce  him. 

As  the  carriage  started,  the  window  of  a  room  on 
the  first  floor  opened,  and  a  pair  came  and  looked  at 
them  curiously.  The  girl  was  Marie  Donval,  of  the 
Gymnase,  whom  the  doctor  recognised  and  named 
in  a  loud  voice.  The  other  was  a  deformed  little 
creature,  whose  head  was  barely  visible  above  the 
window-sill.  Freydet,  with  much  indignation,  and 
Vedrine,  with  some  amusement,  recognised  Fage. 

'  Are  you  surprised,  M.  de  Freydet  ? '  said  Paul. 
And  hereupon  he  launched  into  a  savage  attack  upon 
woman.  Woman  !  A  disordered  child,  with  all  a 
child's  perversity  and  wickedness,  all  its  instinctive 
desire  to  cheat,  to  lie,  to  tease,  all  its  cowardice.    She 


1 84  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY* 

was  greedy,  she  was  vain,  she  was  inquisitive.  Oh 
yes,  she  could  serve  you  a  hash  of  somebody  else, 
but  she  had  not  an  idea  of  her  own ;  and  in  argu- 
ment, why,  she  was  as  full  of  holes,  twists,  and  slippery 
places  as  the  pavement  on  a  frosty  night  after  a 
thaw.  How  was  conversation  possible  with  a  woman  ? 
Why,  there  was  nothing  in  her,  neither  kindness  nor 
pity  nor  intellect — not  even  common  sense.  For  a 
fashionable  bonnet  or  one  of  Spricht's  gowns  she 
was  capable  of  stealing,  of  any  trick  however  dirty  ; 
for  at  bottom  the  only  thing  she  cares  for  is  dress. 
To  know  the  strength  of  this  passion  a  man  must 
have  gone,  as  Paul  had,  with  the  most  elegant  ladies 
of  fashion  to  the  rooms  of  the  great  man-milliner. 
They  were  hand-and-glove  with  the  forewomen, 
asked  them  to  breakfast  at  their  country  houses, 
knelt  to  old  Spricht  as  if  he  were  the  Pope  him- 
self. The  Marquise  de  Roca-Nera  took  her  young 
daughters  to  him,  and  all  but  asked  him  to  bless 
them ! 

'  Just  so,'  said  the  doctor,  with  the  automatic  jerk 
of  a  hireling  whose  neck  has  been  put  out  of  joint  by 
perpetual  acquiescence.  Then  followed  an  awkward 
pause,  the  conversation  being,  as  it  were,  thrown  out 
of  gear  by  this  sudden  and  unexpectedly  violent 
effusion  from  a  young  fellow  usually  very  civil  and 
self-possessed.      The  sun    was  oppressive,   and   was 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  185 

reflected  off  the  dry  stone  walls  on  each  side  of  the 
steep  road,  up  which  the  horses  were  toiling  painfully, 
while  the  pebbles  creaked  under  the  wheels. 

'  To  show  the  kindness  and  pity  of  woman,  I  can 
vouch  for  the  following.'  It  was  Vedrine  who  spoke, 
his  head  thrown  back  and  swaying  as  it  rested  on  the 
hood  of  the  carriage,  his  eyes  half  shut  as  he  looked 
at  some  inward  vision.  '  It  was  not  at  the  great 
milliner's.  It  was  at  the  Hotel-Dieu,  in  Bouchereau's 
department.  A  rough,  white-washed  cell,  an  iron 
bedstead  with  all  the  clothes  thrown  off,  and  on  it, 
stark  naked,  covered  with  sweat  and  foam,  contorted 
and  twisted  like  a  clown  with  sudden  springs  and  with 
yells  that  re-echoed  through  the  fore-court  of  Notre 
Dame,  a  madman  in  the  last  agony.  Beside  the  bed 
two  women,  one  on  either  side,  the  Sister,  and  one  of 
Bouchereau's  little  lady-students,  both  quite  young, 
yet  with  no  disgust  and  no  fear,  both  leaning  over 
the  poor  wretch  whom  no  one  dared  go  near,  wiping 
from  his  brow  and  mouth  the  sweat  of  his  agony 
and  the  suffocating  foam.  The  Sister  was  pray- 
ing all  the  time  ;  the  other  was  not.  But  in  the 
inspired  look  in  the  eyes  of  both,  in  the  gentleness  of 
the  brave  little  hands  which  wiped  away  the  mad- 
man's foam  right  from  under  his  teeth,  in  the  heroic 
and  maternal  beauty  of  their  unwearied  movements, 
you  felt  that  they  were  both  very  women.     There  is 


1 86  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

woman !  It  was  enough  to  make  a  man  fall  on  his 
knees  and  sob.' 

'Thank  you,  Vedrine,'  said  Freydet  under  his 
breath ;  he  had  been  choking  with  the  recollection 
of  the  dear  one  at  Clos  Jallanges.  The  doctor  began 
his  jerk  and  his  '  just  so,'  but  was  cut  short  by  the 
dry,  incisive  tones  of  Paul  Astier. 

'  Oh  yes,  sick  nurses,  I'll  allow.  Sickly  themselves, 
nothing  gives  them  such  pleasure  as  nursing,  dressing, 
bathing  their  patients,  handling  hot  towels  and  basins ; 
and  then  there's  the  power  they  exercise  over  the 
suffering  and  the  weak.'  His  voice  hissed  and  rose 
to  the  pitch  of  his  mother's,  while  from  his  cold  eye 
darted  a  little  gleam  of  wickedness  which  made  his 
companions  wonder  '  what  is  up,'  and  suggested  to 
the  doctor  the  sage  reflection,  '  All  very  well  to 
talk  about  a  scratch,  and  swords  of  the  Institute, 
but  I  should  not  care  to  be  in  the  Prince's 
skin.' 

'  Now  I'll  paint  you  a  pendant  to  our  friend's 
chromo,'  sneered  Paul.  '  As  a  specimen  of  feminine 
delicacy  and  faithfulness,  take  a  little  widow,  who 
even  in  the  burial  vault  of  the  departed,  and  on  his 
very  tombstone ' 

'  The  EpJiesian  Matron  ! '  broke  in  Vedrine,  '  you 
want  to  tell  us  that ! '  The  discussion  grew  animated 
and  ran  on,  still  to  an  accompaniment  of  the  jolting 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  1 87 

wheels,  upon  the  never-failing  topics  of  masculine 
discussion,  woman  and  love. 

'  Gentlemen,  look,'  said  the  doctor,  who  from  his 
place  on  the  front  seat  saw  two  carriages  coming  up 
the  hill  at  a  quick  trot.  In  the  first,  an  open  victoria, 
were  the  Prince's  seconds.  Gomes  stood  up,  and  as 
he  sat  down  again  named  them  in  a  low  and  respectful 
tone,  'the  Marquis  d'Urbin  and  General  de  Bonneuil  of 
the  Jockey  Club — very  good  form — and  my  brother- 
surgeon,  Aubouis.'  This  Doctor  Aubouis  was 
another  low-caste  of  the  same  stamp  as  Gomes ; 
but  as  he  had  a  ribbon  his  fee  was  five  guineas. 
Behind  was  a  little  brougham  in  which,  along  with 
the  inseparable  Lavaux,  was  concealed  D'Athis,  de- 
sperately bored  with  the  whole  business.  During  five 
minutes  the  three  vehicles  went  up  the  hill  one  behind 
another  like  a  wedding  or  funeral  procession,  and 
nothing  was  heard  but  the  sound  of  the  wheels  and 
the  panting  or  snorting  of  the  horses  as  they  rattled 
their  bits. 

'  Pass  them,'  said  a  haughty  nasal  voice. 

'  By  all  means,'  said  Paul, '  they  are  going  to  see  to 
our  quarters.'  The  wheels  grazed  on  the  narrow  road, 
the  seconds  bowed,  the  doctors  exchanged  professional 
smiles.  Then  the  brougham  went  by,  showing  behind 
the  window  glass,  pulled  up  in  spite  of  the  heat,  a 
morose  motionless  profile,  as  pale  as  a  corpse.     '  He 


1 88  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

won't  be  paler  than  that  an  hour  hence,  when  they 
take  him  home  with  a  hole  in  his  side/  thought  Paul, 
and  he  pictured  the  exact  thrust,  feint  No.  2,  followed 
by  a  direct  lunge  straight  in  between  the  third  and 
fourth  ribs. 

At  the  top  of  the  hill  the  air  was  cooler,  and  laden 
with  the  scent  of  lime-flowers,  acacias,  and  roses  warm 
in  the  sun.  Behind  the  low  park  railings  sloped 
great  lawns  over  which  moved  the  mottled  shadows 
of  the  trees.  Presently  was  heard  the  bell  of  a 
garden  gate. 

1  Here  we  are,'  said  the  doctor,  who  knew  the 
place.  It  was  where  the  Marquis  d'Urbin's  stud 
used  to  be,  but  for  the  last  two  years  it  had  been  for 
sale.  All  the  horses  were  gone,  except  a  few  colts 
gambolling  about  in  fields  separated  by  high  barriers. 

The  duel  was  to  take  place  at  the  further  end  of 
the  estate,  on  a  wide  terrace  in  front  of  a  white  brick 
stable.  It  was  reached  by  sloping  paths  all  over- 
grown with  moss  and  grass,  along  which  both  parties 
walked  together,  mingling,  but  not  speaking,  proper 
as  could  be  ;  except  that  Vedrine,  unable  to  support 
these  fashionable  formalities,  scandalised  Freydet,  who 
carried  his  high  collar  with  much  gravity,  by  exclaim- 
ing, '  Here's  a  lily  of  the  valley,'  or  pulling  off  a 
bough,  and  presently,  struck  with  the  contrast 
between  the  splendid  passivity  of   nature   and   the 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  1 89 

futile  activity  of  man,  ejaculated,  as  he  gazed  on  the 
great  woods  that  climbed  the  opposite  hill-side,  and 
the  distance  composed  of  clustered  roofs,  shining 
water  and  blue  haze,  '  How  beautiful,  how  peaceful ! ' 
With  an  involuntary  movement  he  pointed  to  the  ho- 
rizon, for  the  benefit  of  some  one  whose  patent  leather 
boots  came  squeaking  behind  him.  But  oh,  what  an 
outpouring  of  contempt,  not  only  upon  the  improper 
Vedrine,  but  upon  the  landscape  and  the  sky  !  The 
Prince  d'Athis  was  unsurpassed  in  contempt.  He 
expressed  it  with  his  eye,  the  celebrated  eye  whose 
flash  had  always  overcome  Bismarck  ;  he  expressed  it 
with  his  great  hooked  nose,  and  with  the  turned  down 
corners  of  his  mouth  ;  he  expressed  it  without  reason, 
without  inquiry,  study,  or  thought,  and  his  rise  in 
diplomacy,  his  successes  in  love  and  in  society,  were 
all  the  work  of  this  supposed  contempt ! 

In  reality  '  Sammy '  was  an  empty-headed  bauble, 
a  puppet  picked  by  a  clever  woman's  compassion  out 
of  the  refuse  and  oyster  shells  of  the  supper-tavern, 
raised  by  her  higher  and  higher,  prompted  by  her 
what  to  say  and,  more  important  still,  what  not  to 
say,  lessoned  and  guided  by  her,  till  the  day  when, 
finding  himself  at  the  top  of  the  ladder,  he  kicked 
away  the  stool  which  he  no  longer  wanted.  Society 
thought  him  a  very  clever  fellow,  but  Vedrine  did  not 
share  the  general  opinion  ;  and  the   comparison  of 


190  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

Talleyrand  to  a  '  silk  stocking  full  of  mud '  came  into 
his  mind  as  he  watched  this  highly  respectable  and 
proper  personage  stalk  majestically  past  him.  Evi- 
dently the  Duchess  had  her  wits  about  her  when  she 
disguised  his  emptiness  by  making  him  both  diplo- 
matist and  academician,  and  cloaking  him  for  the 
official  carnival  with  the  double  thickness  of  both  the 
two  thread-bare,  though  venerable,  dominos,  to  which 
society  continues  to  bow.  But  how  she  could  have 
loved  such  a  hollow,  stony-hearted  piece  of  crockery, 
Vedrine  did  not  understand.  Was  it  his  title  ?  But 
her  family  was  as  good  as  his.  Was  it  the  English 
cut  of  his  clothes,  the  frock  coat  closely  fitted  to  his 
broken-down  shoulders,  and  the  mud-coloured  trousers 
that  made  so  crude  a  bit  of  colour  among  the  trees  ? 
One  might  almost  think  that  the  young  villain,  Paul, 
was  right  in  his  contemptuous  remarks  on  woman's 
taste  for  what  is  low,  for  deformity  in  morals  or 
physique  ! 

The  Prince  had  reached  the  three-foot  fence  which 
divided  the  path  from  the  meadow,  and  either  because 
he  mistrusted  his  slender  legs,  or  because  he  thought 
a  vigorous  movement  improper  for  a  man  of  his 
position,  he  hesitated,  particularly  bothered  by  the 
sense  that  '  that  huge  artist  fellow '  was  just  at  his 
back.  At  last  he  made  up  his  mind  to  step  out  of 
his   way  to  a   gap  in  the  wooden    fence.     Vedrine 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  19I 

winked  his  little  eyes.  '  Go  round,  my  good  sir,'  was 
his  thought, '  go  round  ;  make  the  road  as  long  as  you 
will  ,  it  must  bring  you  in  the  end  to  the  front  of  the 
white  building  yonder.  And  when  you  get  there,  you 
may  possibly  have  to  pay  a  heavy  reckoning  for  all 
your  scoundrelly  tricks.  There  is  always  a  reckoning 
to  pay  in  the  end.'  Having  relieved  his  mind  by  this 
soliloquy,  he  jumped  clean  over  the  fence  without  so 
much  as  putting  a  hand  on  it  (a  proceeding  extremely 
improper),  and  joined  the  knot  of  seconds  busily 
engaged  in  casting  lots  for  places  and  swords.  In 
spite  of  the  dandified  solemnity  of  their  aspect,  they 
looked,  as  they  all  bent  to  see  whether  the  toss  fell 
head  or  tail,  or  ran  to  pick  up  the  coins,  like  big 
school-boys  in  the  playground,  wrinkled  and  grey. 
During  a  discussion  on  a  doubtful  pitch,  Ve\drine 
heard  his  name  called  by  Astier,  who,  with  perfect 
self-possession,  was  taking  off  his  coat  and  emptying 
his  pockets  behind  the  little  building.  '  What's  that 
stuff  the  General  is  talking?  Wants  to  Have  his 
walking-stick  within  reach  of  our  swords,  to  prevent 
accidents  ?  I  won't  have  that  sort  of  thing,  do  you 
hear  ?  This  is  not  a  lower  school  fight.  We  are  both 
old  hands,  fifth  form.'  In  spite  of  his  light  words, 
his  teeth  were  clenched  and  his  eye  gleamed  fiercely. 
'  It's  serious  then  ? '  asked  V^drine,  looking  at  him 
hard. 


192  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

'  Couldn't  be  more  so.' 

'  Ah  !  Somehow  I  thought  as  much,'  and  the 
sculptor  returned  to  convey  the  message  to  the 
General,  commander  of  a  cavalry  division,  looking  all 
leg  from  his  heels  to  his  pointed  ears,  which  in  bril- 
liancy of  colour  vied  with  Freydet's.  At  Vedrine's 
intimation  these  ears  flushed  suddenly  scarlet,  as  if 
the  blood  boiled  in  them.  '  Right,  Sir  !  'Course, 
Sir  ! '  His  words  cut  the  air  like  the  lash  of  a  whip. 
Sammy  was  being  helped  by  Doctor  Aubouis  to  turn 
up  his  shirt  sleeves.  Did  he  hear  ?  or  was  it  the 
aspect  of  the  lithe,  cat-like,  vigorous  young  fellow  as 
he  came  forward  with  neck  and  arms  bare  and  round 
as  a  woman's,  and  with  that  pitiless  look.  Be  the  reason 
what  it  may,  D'Athis,  who  had  come  to  the  ground  as 
a  social  duty  without  a  shade  of  anxiety,  as  befitted 
a  gentleman  who  was  not  inexperienced  and  knew 
the  value  of  two  good  seconds,  suddenly  changed 
countenance,  turned  earthy  pale,  while  his  beard 
scarcely  concealed  the  twitch  of  his  jaw  in  the 
horrible  contortion  of  fear.  But  he  kept  his  self- 
control,  and  put  himself  on  the  defensive  bravely 
enough. 

1  Now,  gentlemen.' 

Yes,  there  is  always  a  reckoning  to  pay.  He 
realised  that  keenly  as  he  faced  that  pitiless  sword- 
point,   which   sought   him,   felt   him   at   a  distance, 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  I93 

seemed  to  spare  him  now  only  to  make  more  sure 
of  hitting  presently.  They  meant  to  kill  him  ;  that 
was  certain.  And  as  he  parried  the  blows  with  his 
long,  thin  arm  stretched  out,  amid  the  clashing  of 
the  hilts  he  felt,  for  the  first  time,  a  pang  of  remorse 
for  his  mean  desertion  of  the  noble  lady  who  had 
lifted  him  out  of  the  gutter  and  given  him  once 
more  a  decent  place  in  the  world  ;  he  felt  too  that 
her  merited  wrath  was  in  some  way  connected  with 
this  present  encompassing  peril,  which  seemed  to 
shake  the  air  all  about  him,  to  send  round  and  round 
in  a  glancing,  vanishing  vision  the  expanse  of  sky 
overhead,  the  alarmed  faces  of  the  seconds  and 
doctors,  and  the  remoter  figures  of  two  stable  boys 
wildly  beating  off  with  their  caps  the  gambolling 
horses  that  wanted  to  come  and  look  on.  Suddenly 
came  exclamations,  sharp  and  peremptory : '  Enough  ! 
Stop,  stop  ! '  What  has  happened  ?  The  peril  is 
gone,  the  sky  stands  still,  everything  has  resumed  its 
natural  colour  and  place.  But  at  his  feet  over  the 
torn  and  trampled  ground  spreads  a  widening  pool 
of  blood,  which  darkens  the  yellow  soil,  and  in  it 
lies  Paul  Astier  helpless,  with  a  wound  right  through 
his  bare  neck,  stuck  like  a  pig.  In  the  still  pause  of 
horror  which  followed  the  disaster  was  heard  the 
shrill,  unceasing  noise  of  insects  in  the  distant  meadow, 
while  the  horses,  no  longer  watched,  gathered  together 

o 


194  ONE  OF  THE  <F0RTY' 

a  little  way  off  and  stretched  out  inquisitive 
noses  towards  the  motionless  body  of  the  van- 
quished. 

Yet  he  was  a  skilful  swordsman.  His  fingers 
had  a  firm  grasp  of  the  hilt  and  could  make  the 
whistling  blade  flash,  hover,  and  descend  where  he 
pleased,  while  his  adversary  encountered  him  with  a 
wavering  cowardly  spit.  How  had  it  come  about  ? 
The  seconds  will  say,  and  the  evening  papers  repeat, 
and  to-morrow  all  Paris  will  take  up  the  cue,  that 
Paul  Astier  slipped  as  he  made  his  thrust  and  ran  on 
his  opponent's  point.  A  full  and  accurate  account 
will  no  doubt  be  given :  but  in  life  it  usually 
happens  that  decision  of  language  varies  inversely 
with  certainty  of  knowledge.  Even  from  the  spec- 
tators, even  from  the  combatants  themselves,  a 
certain  mist  and  confusion  will  always  veil  the  crucial 
moment,  when,  against  all  reasonable  calculation,  the 
final  stroke  was  given  by  intervening  fate,  wrapped  in 
that  obscure  cloud  which  by  epic  rule  closes  round 
the  end  of  a  contest. 

Carried  into  a  small  coachman's  room  adjoining 
the  stable,  Paul,  on  opening  his  eyes  after  a  long 
swoon,  saw  first  from  the  iron  bedstead  on  which  he 
lay  a  lithographic  print  of  the  Prince  Imperial  pinned 
to  the  wall  over  the  drawers,  which  were  covered 
with  surgical  instruments.    As  consciousness  returned 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  1 95 

to  him  through  the  medium  of  external  objects,  the 
poor  melancholy  face  with  its  faded  eyes,  discoloured 
by  the  damp  of  the  walls,  suggested  a  sad  omen  of 
ill-fated  youth.  But  besides  ambition  and  cunning, 
Paul  had  his  full  share  of  courage  ;  and  raising  with 
difficulty  his  head  and  its  cumbrous  wrapping  of 
bandages,  he  asked  in  a  voice  broken  and  weak, 
though  fleering  still,  '  Wound  or  scratch,  doctor  ? ' 
Gomes,  who  was  rolling  up  his  medicated  wool, 
waved  to  him  to  keep  quiet,  as  he  answered, '  Scratch, 
you  lucky  dog  ;  but  a  near  shave.  Aubouis  and  I 
thought  the  carotid  was  cut.'  A  faint  colour  came 
into  the  young  man's  cheeks,  and  his  eyes  sparkled. 
It  is  so  satisfactory  not  to  die !  Instantly  his  am- 
bition revived,  and  he  wanted  to  know  how  long  he 
should  take  to  get  well  again.  '  From  three  weeks 
to  a  month.'  Such  was  the  doctor's  judgment, 
announced  in  an  indifferent  tone  with  an  amusing 
shade  of  contempt.  He  was  really  very  much 
annoyed  and  mortified  that  his  patient  had  got  the 
worst  of  it.  Paul  with  his  eyes  on  the  wall  was 
making  calculations.  D'Athis  would  be  gone  and 
Colette  married  before  he  was  even  out  of  bed. 
Well,  that  business  had  failed  ;  he  must  look  out  for 
something  else. 

The  door  was  opened,  and  a  great  flood  of  light 
poured  into  the  miserable   room.      How   delightful 

o  2 


196  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

was  life  and  the  warm  sunshine !  V^drine,  coming 
in  with  Freydet,  went  up  to  the  bed  and  held  out  his 
hand  joyously,  saying  '  You  did  give  us  a  fright ! ' 
He  was  really  fond  of  his  young  rascal,  and  cherished 
him  as  a  work  of  art.  'Ah,  that  you  did!'  said 
Freydet,  wiping  his  brow  with  an  air  of  great  relief. 
His  eyes  had  seen  all  his  hopes  of  election  to  the 
Academie  lying  on  the  ground  in  that  pool  of  blood. 
How  could  Astier,  the  father,  ever  have  come  out  as 
the  champion  of  a  man  connected  with  such  a  fatal 
event  ?  Not  but  that  Freydet  had  a  warm  heart,  but 
the  absorbing  thought  of  his  candidature  brought  his 
mind,  like  a  compass  needle,  always  round  to  the 
same  point ;  howsoever  shaken  and  turned  about,  it 
came  back  still  to  the  Academic  Pole.  And  as  the 
wounded  man  smiled  at  his  friends,  feeling  a  little 
foolish  at  finding  himself,  for  all  his  cleverness,  lying 
there  at  full  length,  Freydet  dilated  with  admiration 
on  the  '  proper '  behaviour  of  the  seconds,  whom  they 
had  just  assisted  in  framing  the  report,  of  Doctor 
Aubouis,  who  had  offered  to  stay  with  his  profes- 
sional friend,  of  the  Prince,  who  had  gone  off  in  the 
victoria  and  left  for  Paul  his  well-hung  carriage,  which 
having  only  one  horse  could  be  brought  right  up  to 
the  door  of  the  little  building.  Every  one  had  be- 
haved most  properly. 

'  How  he  bores  one  with   his  proprieties  ! '   said 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  197 

Vedrine,  seeing  the  face  Paul  had  not  been  able  to 
help  making. 

'  It  really  is  very  odd,'  murmured  the  young 
fellow  in  a  vague  and  wandering  voice.  So  it  would 
be  he,  and  not  the  other  fellow,  whose  pale,  blood- 
stained face  would  be  seen  by  the  doctor's  side 
through  the  window  of  the  brougham  as  it  went 
slowly  home.  Well,  he  had  made  a  mess  of  it ! 
Suddenly  he  sat  up,  in  spite  of  the  doctors  protest, 
rummaged  in  his  card-case  for  a  card,  and  scribbled 
on  it  with  pencil  in  a  shaky  hand,  '  Fate  is  as  faith- 
less as  man.  I  wanted  to  avenge  you,  but  could  not. 
Forgive  me.'  He  signed  his  name,  read  it  over,  re- 
flected, read  it  again,  then  fastened  up  the  envelope, 
which  they  had  found  in  a  dusty  drawer,  a  nasty 
scented  envelope  from  some  rural  stores,  and  directed 
it  to  the  Duchess  Padovani.  He  gave  it  to  Freydet, 
begging  him  to  deliver  it  himself  as  soon  as  possible. 

'  It  shall  be  there  within  an  hour,  my  dear 
Paul.' 

He  made  with  his  hand  a  sign  of  thanks  and 
dismissal,  then  stretched  himself  out,  shut  his  eyes, 
and  lay  quiet  and  still  till  the  departure,  listening  to 
the  sound  which  came  from  the  sunny  meadow 
around — a  vast  shrill  hum  of  insects,  which  imitated 
the  pulsation  of  approaching  fever.  Beneath  the 
closed  lids  his  thoughts  pursued  the  windings  of  this 


I98  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

second  and  quite  novel  plot,  conceived  by  a  sudden 
inspiration  on  the  place  of  defeat. 

Was  it  a  sudden  inspiration  ?  There  perhaps  the 
ambitious  young  man  was  wrong  ;  for  the  spring  of 
our  actions  is  often  unseen,  lost  and  hidden  amid  the 
internal  disturbance  of  the  crisis,  even  as  the  agitator 
who  starts  a  crowd  himself  disappears  in  it.  A  human 
being  resembles  a  crowd  ;  both  are  manifold,  com- 
plicated things,  full  of  confused  and  irregular  im- 
pulses, but  there  is  an  agitator  in  the  background  ; 
and  the  movements  of  a  man,  like  those  of  a  mob, 
passionate  and  spontaneous  as  they  may  appear, 
have  always  been  preconcerted.  Since  the  evening 
when  on  the  terrace  of  the  Hotel  Padovani  Lavaux 
had  suggested  the  Duchess  to  the  young  Guardsman, 
the  thought  had  occurred  to  Paul  that,  if  Madame 
de  Rosen  failed  him,  he  might  fall  back  on  the  fair 
Antonia.  It  had  recurred  two  nights  ago  at  the 
Francois,  when  he  saw  Adriani  in  the  Duchess's  box  ; 
but  it  took  no  definite  shape,  because  all  his  energy 
was  then  turned  in  another  direction,  and  he  still 
believed  in  the  possibility  of  success.  Now  that  the 
game  was  completely  lost,  his  first  idea  on  returning 
to  life  was  'the  Duchess.'  Thus,  although  he 
scarcely  knew  it,  the  resolution  reached  so  abruptly 
was  but  the  coming  to  light  of  what  grew  slowly 
underground.     '  I  wanted  to  avenge  you,  but  could 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  1 99 

not.'  Warm-hearted,  impulsive,  and  revengeful  as 
he  knew  her  to  be,  '  Mari'  Anto,'  as  her  Corsicans 
called  her,  would  certainly  be  at  his  bedside  the 
next  morning.  It  would  be  his  business  to  see  that 
she  did  not  go  away. 

Vedrine  and  Freydet  went  Dack  together  in  the 
landau,  without  waiting  for  Sammy's  brougham, 
which  had  to  come  slowly  for  the  sake  of  the 
wounded  man.  The  sight  of  the  swords  lying  in 
their  baize  cover  on  the  empty  seat  opposite  sug- 
gested reflection.  '  They  don't  rattle  so  much  as  they 
did  going,  the  brutes,'  said  Vedrine,  kicking  them  as 
he  spoke.  '  Ah,  you  see  they  are  his  ! '  said  Freydet, 
giving  words  to  his  thoughts.  Then,  resuming  the 
air  of  gravity  and  propriety  appropriate  to  a  second, 
he  added,  '  We  had  everything  in  our  favour,  the 
ground,  the  weapons,  and  a  first-rate  fencer.  As  he 
says,  it  is  very  odd. 

Presently  there  was  a  pause  in  the  dialogue,  while 
their  attention  was  fixed  by  the  gorgeous  colour  of 
the  river,  spread  in  sheets  of  green  and  purple  under 
the  setting  sun.  Crossing  the  bridge  the  horses 
trotted  fast  up  the  street  of  Boulogne.  'Yes,'  Vedrine 
went  on,  as  if  there  had  been  no  long  interruption  of 
silence  ;  '  yes,  after  all,  in  spite  of  apparent  successes, 
the  fellow  is  unlucky  at  bottom.  I  have  now  seen 
him  more  than  once  fighting  with  circumstances  in 


200  ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY* 

one  of  those  crises  which  are  touchstones  to  a  man's 
fate,  and  bring  out  of  him  all  the  luck  he  has.  Well, 
let  him  plot  as  cunningly  as  he  will,  foresee  everything, 
mix  his  tints  with  the  utmost  skill,  something  gives 
way  at  the  last  moment,  and  without  completely 
ruining  him  prevents  him  from  attaining  his  object. 
Why  ?  Very  likely,  just  because  his  nose  is  crooked. 
I  assure  you,  that  sort  of  crookedness  is  nearly  always 
the  sign  of  a  twist  in  the  intellect,  an  obliquity  in  the 
character.     The  helm's  not  straight,  you  see  ! ' 

They  laughed  at  the  suggestion  ;  and  Vedrine, 
pursuing  the  subject  of  good  and  bad  luck,  told  an 
odd  story  of  a  thing  which  had  happened  almost 
under  his  eyes  when  he  was  staying  with  the  Pado- 
vani  in  Corsica.  It  was  on  the  coast  at  Barbicaglia, 
just  opposite  the  lighthouse  on  the  Sanguinaires.  In 
this  lighthouse  lived  an  old  keeper,  a  tried  servant, 
just  on  the  eve  of  retirement.  One  night  when  he 
was  on  duty  the  old  fellow  fell  asleep  and  dozed  for 
five  minutes  at  the  most,  stopping  with  his  out- 
stretched leg  the  movement  of  the  revolving  light, 
which  ought  to  change  colour  once  a  minute.  That 
very  night,  just  at  that  moment,  the  inspector-general, 
who  was  making  his  annual  round  in  a  Government 
boat,  happened  to  be  opposite  the  Sanguinaires.  He 
was  amazed  to  see  a  stationary  light,  had  the  boat 
stopped,  investigated  and  reported  the  matter,  and 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  201 

the  next  morning  the  official  boat  brought  a  new 
keeper  to  the  island  and  notice  of  instant  dismissal 
to  the  poor  old  man.  '  It  seems  to  me,'  said  Vedrine, 
'  a  curiosity  in  ill-luck  that,  in  the  chances  of  darkness, 
time,  and  space,  the  inspector's  survey  should  have 
coincided  with  the  old  man's  nap.'  Their  carriage 
was  just  reaching  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  and 
Vedrine  pointed  with  one  of  his  slow  calm  move- 
ments to  a  great  piece  of  sky  overhead  where  the 
dark  green  colour  was  pierced  here  and  there  by 
newly-appearing  stars,  visible  in  the  waning  light  of 
the  glorious  day. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  landau  turned  into  the 
Rue  de  Poitiers,  a  short  street,  already  in  shadow, 
and  stopped  in  front  of  the  high  iron  gates  bearing 
the  Padovani  shield.  All  the  shutters  of  the  house 
were  closed,  and  there  was  a  great  chattering  of  birds 
in  the  garden.  The  Duchess  had  gone  for  the  summer 
to  Mousseaux.  Freydet  stood  hesitating,  with  the 
huge  envelope  in  his  hand.  He  had  expected  to  see 
the  fair  Antonia  and  give  a  graphic  account  of  the 
duel,  perhaps  even  to  slip  in  a  reference  to  his  ap- 
proaching candidature.  Now  he  could  not  make  up 
his  mind  whether  he  should  leave  the  letter,  or  deliver 
it  himself  a  few  days  hence,  when  he  went  back  to 
Clos  Jallanges.  Eventually  he  decided  to  leave  it, 
and  as  he  stepped  back  into  the  carriage  he  said, 


202  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY* 

'  Poor  fellow  !  He  impressed  upon  me  that  the  letter 
was  urgent.' 

4  Quite  so,'  said  Vddrine,  as  the  landau  carried 
them  along  the  quays,  now  beginning  to  glimmer 
with  rows  of  yellow  lights,  to  the  meeting  place 
arranged  with  D'Athis's  seconds  ;  *  quite  so.  I  don't 
know  what  the  letter  is  about,  but  for  him  to  take 
the  trouble  to  write  it  at  such  a  moment,  it  must  be 
something  very  smart,  something  extremely  ingenious 
and  clever.  Only  there  you  are  !  Very  urgent — and 
the  Duchess  has  left' 

And  pushing  the  end  of  his  nose  on  one  side 
between  two  fingers,  he  said  with  the  utmost  gravity, 
•  That's  what  it  is,  you  see.' 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY1  203 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  sword-thrust  which  had  so  nearly  cost  Paul 
Astier  his  life  made  peace  for  the  time  between  his 
parents.  In  the  emotion  produced  by  such  a  shock 
to  his  natural  feelings,  the  father  forgave  all ;  and  as 
for  three  weeks  Madame  Astier  remained  with  her 
patient,  coming  home  only  on  flying  visits  to  fetch 
linen  or  change  her  dress,  there  was  no  risk  of  the 
covert  allusions  and  indirect  reproaches,  which  will 
revive,  even  after  forgiveness  and  reconciliation,  the 
disagreement  of  husband  and  wife.  And  when  Paul 
got  well  and  went,  at  the  urgent  invitation  of  the 
Duchess,  to  Mousseaux,  the  return  of  this  truly  aca- 
demic household,  if  not  to  warm  affection,  at  least  to 
the  equable  temperature  of  the  '  cold  bed,'  was  finally 
secured  by  its  establishment  in  the  Institute,  in  the 
official  lodgings  vacated  by  Loisillon,  whose  widow, 
having  been  appointed  manager  of  the  school  of 
Ecouen,  removed  so  quickly,  that  the  new  secretary 
began  to  move  in  within  a  very  few  days  of  his 
election. 

It  was  not  a  long  process  to  settle  in  rooms  which 


204  ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY' 

they  had  surveyed  for  years  with  the  minute  exact- 
ness of  envy  and  hope,  till  they  knew  the  very 
utmost  that  could  be  made  of  every  corner.  The 
pieces  of  furniture  from  the  Rue  de  Beaune  fell  into 
the  new  arrangement  so  smartly,  that  it  looked  as  if 
they  were  merely  returning  after  a  sojourn  in  the 
country,  and  finding  their  fixed  habitat  and  natural 
place  of  adhesion  by  the  marks  of  their  own  forms 
upon  the  floors  or  panels.  The  redecoration  was 
limited  to  cleaning  the  room  in  which  Loisillon  died, 
and  papering  what  had  been  the  reception-room  of 
Villemain  and  was  now  taken  by  Astier  for  his  study, 
because  there  was  a  good  light  from  the  quiet  court 
and  a  lofty  bright  little  room,  immediately  adjoining, 
for  his  MSS.,  which  were  transferred  there  in  three 
journeys  of  a  cab,  with  the  help  of  Fage  the  bookbinder. 
Every  morning,  with  a  fresh  delight,  he  enjoyed 
the  convenience  of  a  '  library '  scarcely  inferior  to  the 
Foreign  Office,  which  he  could  enter  without  stooping 
or  climbing  a  ladder.  Of  his  kennel  in  the  Rue  de 
Beaune  he  could  not  now  think  without  anger  and 
disgust.  It  is  the  nature  of  man  to  regard  places 
in  which  he  has  felt  pain  with  an  obstinate  and 
unforgiving  dislike.  We  can  reconcile  ourselves  to 
living  creatures,  which  are  capable  of  alteration  and 
differences  of  aspect,  but  not  to  the  stony  unchange- 
ableness  of  things.      Amid  the  pleasures  of  getting 


ONE  OF  THE   'FORTY*  205 

in,  Asticr-Rchu  could  forget  his  indignation  at  the 
offence  of  his  wife,  and  even  his  grievances  against 
Teyssedre,  who  received  orders  to  come  every  Wed- 
nesday morning  as  before.  But  at  the  mere  remem- 
brance of  the  slope-roofed  den,  into  which  he  was 
lately  banished  for  one  day  in  each  week,  the  his- 
torian ground  his  teeth,  and  the  jaw  of  '  Crocodilus  ' 
reappeared. 

Teyssedre,  incredible  as  it  may  be,  was  very  little 
excited  or  impressed  by  the  honour  of  polishing  the 
monumental  floors  of  the  Palais  Mazarin,  and  still 
shoved  about  the  table,  papers,  and  numberless  re- 
ports of  the  Permanent  Secretary  with  the  calm 
superiority  of  a  citizen  of  Riom  over  a  common 
fellow  from  '  Chauvagnat.'  Astier-Rehu,  secretly 
uncomfortable  under  this  crushing  contempt,  some- 
times tried  to  make  the  savage  feel  the  dignity  of 
the  place  upon  which  his  wax-cake  was  operating. 
4  Teyssedre,'  said  he  to  him,  one  morning,  '  this  was 
the  reception-room  of  the  great  Villemain.  Pray  treat 
it  accordingly ; '  but  he  instantly  offered  satisfaction 
to  the  Arvernian's  pride  by  saying  weakly  to  Coren- 
tine,  '  Give  the  good  man  a  glass  of  wine.'  The 
astonished  Corentine  brought  it,  and  the  polisher, 
leaning  on  his  stick,  emptied  it  at  a  draught,  his 
pupils  dilating  with  pleasure.  Then  he  wiped  his 
mouth  with  his  sleeve  and,  setting  down  the  glass 


206  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

with  the  mark  of  his  greedy  lips  upon  it,  said, '  Look 
you,  Meuchieu  Astier,  a  glass  of  good  wine  is  the  only 
real  good  in  life.'  There  was  such  a  ring  of  truth 
in  his  voice,  such  a  sparkle  of  contentment  in  his 
eyes,  that  the  Permanent  Secretary,  going  back  into 
his  library,  shut  the  door  a  little  sharply.  It  was 
scarcely  worth  while  to  have  scrambled  from  his  low 
beginning  to  his  present  glory  as  head  of  literature, 
historian  of  the  '  House  of  Orleans,'  and  keystone  of 
the  Academie  Franchise,  if  a  glass  of  good  wine  could 
give  to  a  boor  a  happiness  worth  it  all.  But  the  next 
minute,  hearing  the  polisher  say  with  a  sneer  to 
Corentine  that  '  mooch  'e  cared  for  the  'ception-room 
of  the  great  Villemain,'  Leonard  Astier  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  at  the  thought  of  such  ignorance 
his  half-felt  envy  gave  way  to  a  deep  and  benign 
compassion. 

Meanwhile  Madame  Astier,  who  had  been  brought 
up  in  the  building,  and  recognised  with  remembrances 
of  her  childhood  every  stone  in  the  court  and  every 
step  in  the  dusty  and  venerable  Staircase  B,  felt  as 
if  she  had  at  last  got  back  to  her  home.  She  had, 
moreover,  a  sense  far  keener  than  her  husband's  of 
the  material  advantages  of  the  place.  Nothing  to 
pay  for  rent,  for  lighting,  for  fires,  a  great  saving  upon 
the  parties  of  the  winter  season,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  increase  of  income  and  the  influential  connection, 


ONE   OF   THE  'FORTY'  207 

so  particularly  valuable  in  procuring  orders  for  her 
beloved  Paul.  Madame  Loisillon  in  her  time,  when 
sounding  the  praises  of  her  apartments  at  the  In- 
stitute, never  failed  to  add  with  emphasis,  '  I  have 
entertained  there  even  Sovereigns.'  '  Yes,  in  the 
little  room,'  good  Adelaide  would  answer  tartly, 
drawing  up  her  long  neck.  It  was  the  fact  that  not 
unfrequently,  after  the  prolonged  fatigue  of  a  Special 
Session,  some  great  lady,  a  Royal  Highness  on 
her  travels,  or  a  leader  influential  in  politics,  would 
go  upstairs  to  pay  a  little  particular  visit  to  the  wife 
of  the  Permanent  Secretary.  To  this  sort  of  hospi- 
tality Madame  Loisillon  was  indebted  for  her  present 
appointment  as  school-manager,  and  Madame  Astier 
would  certainly  not  be  less  clever  than  her  prede- 
cessor in  utilising  the  convenience.  The  only  draw- 
back to  her  triumph  was  her  quarrel  with  the  Duchess, 
which  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  follow  Paul  to 
Mousseaux.  But  an  invitation,  opportunely  arriving 
at  this  moment,  enabled  her  to  get  as  near  to  him  as 
the  house  at  Clos  Jallanges ;  and  she  had  hopes  of 
recovering  in  time  the  favour  of  the  fair  Antonia, 
towards  whom,  when  she  saw  her  so  kind  to  Paul 
she  began  again  to  feel  quite  affectionate. 

Leonard  could  not  leave  Paris,  having  to  work  off 
the  arrears  of  business  left  by  Loisillon.  He  let  his 
wife  go  however,  and  promised  to  come  down  to  their 


208  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY' 

friends  for  a  few  hours  now  and  then,  though  in  truth 
he  was  resolved  not  to  separate  himself  from  his 
beloved  Institute.  It  was  so  comfortable  and  quiet ! 
He  had  to  attend  two  meetings  in  the  week,  just  on 
the  other  side  of  the  court — summer  meetings,  where 
a  friendly  party  of  five  or  six  '  tallymen '  dozed  at 
ease  under  the  warm  glass.  The  rest  of  the  week  he 
was  entirely  free,  and  the  old  man  employed  it  indus- 
triously in  correcting  the  proofs  of  his  '  Galileo,'  which, 
finished  at  last,  was  to  come  out  at  the  opening  of  the 
season,  as  well  as  a  second  edition  of  '  The  House  of 
Orleans,'  improved  to  twice  its  value  by  the  addition 
of  new  and  unpublished  documents.  As  the  world 
grows  old,  history,  which  being  but  a  collective 
memory  of  the  race  is  liable  to  all  the  lapses,  losses, 
and  weaknesses  of  memory  in  the  individual,  finds  it 
ever  more  necessary  to  be  fortified  with  authentic 
texts,  and  if  it  would  escape  the  errors  of  senility, 
must  refresh  itself  at  the  original  springs.  With  what 
pride,  therefore,  with  what  enjoyment  did  Astier- 
Rehu,  during  those  hot  August  days,  revise  the  fresh 
and  trustworthy  information  displayed  in  his  beloved 
pages,  as  a  preparation  for  returning  them  to  his 
publisher,  with  the  heading  on  which,  for  the  first 
time,  appeared  beneath  his  name  the  words  '  Secre- 
taire perpetuel  de  l'Academie  Franchise.'  His  eyes 
were  not  yet  accustomed  to  the  title,  which  dazzled 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY*  20O, 

him  on  each  occasion,  like  the  sun  upon  the  white 
courtyard  beneath  his  windows.  It  was  the  vast 
Second  Court  of  the  Institute,  private  and  majestic, 
silent,  but  for  sparrows  or  swallows  passing  rarely 
overhead,  and  consecrated  by  a  bronze  bust  of 
Minerva  with  ten  termini  in  a  row  against  the  back 
wall,  over  which  rose  the  huge  chimney  of  the  adjoin- 
ing Mint. 

Towards  four  o'clock,  when  the  helmeted  shadow 
of  the  bust  was  beginning  to  lengthen,  the  stiff 
mechanical  step  of  old  Jean  Re'hu  would  be  heard 
upon  the  flags.  He  lived  over  the  Astiers,  and  went 
out  regularly  every  day  for  a  long  walk,  watched  from 
a  respectful  distance  by  a  servant,  whose  arm  he  per- 
sistently refused.  Within  the  barrier  of  his  increasing 
deafness  his  faculties,  under  the  great  heat  of  this 
summer,  had  begun  to  give  way,  and  especially  his 
memory,  no  longer  effectually  guided  by  the  remind- 
ing pins  upon  the  lappets  of  his  coat.  He  mixed  his 
stones,  and  lost  himself,  like  old  Livingstone  in  the 
marshes  of  Central  Africa,  among  his  recollections, 
where  he  scrambled  and  floundered  till  some  one 
assisted  him.  Such  a  humiliation  irritated  his  spleen, 
and  he  now  therefore  seldom  spoke  to  anyone,  but 
talked  to  himself  as  he  went  along,  marking  with  a 
sudden  stop  and  a  shake  of  the  head  the  end  of  an 
anecdote  and  the  inevitable  phrase,  '  That's  a  thing 


2IO  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY' 

that  I  have  seen.'  But  he  still  carried  himself  up- 
right, and  was  as  fond  of  a  hoax  as  in  the  days 
of  the  Directory.  It  was  his  amusement  to  impose 
abstinence  from  wine,  abstinence  from  meat,  and 
every  ridiculous  variety  of  regimen  upon  cits 
enamoured  of  life,  crowds  of  whom  wrote  to  him 
daily,  asking  by  what  diet  he  had  so  miraculously 
extended  his.  He  would  prescribe  sometimes  vege  - 
tables,  milk,  or  cider,  sometimes  shell-fish  exclusively, 
and  meanwhile  ate  and  drank  without  restriction, 
taking  after  each  meal  a  siesta,  and  every  evening  a 
good  turn  up  and  down  the  floor,  audible  to  Leonard 
Astier  in  the  room  below. 

Two  months,  August  and  September,  had  now 
elapsed  since  the  Permanent  Secretary  came  in  — two 
clear  months  of  fruitful,  delightful  peace ;  such  a 
pause  in  the  climb  of  ambition  as  perhaps  in  all  his 
life  he  had  never  enjoyed  before.  Madame  Astier, 
still  at  Clos  Jallanges,  talked  of  returning  soon ; 
the  sky  of  Paris  showed  the  grey  of  the  first 
fogs ;  the  Academicians  began  to  come  home ; 
the  meetings  were  becoming  less  sociable  ;  and 
Astier,  during  his  working  hours  in  the  reception- 
room  of  the  great  Villemain,  found  it  no  longer  neces- 
sary to  screen  himself  with  blinds  from  the  blazing 
reflection  of  the  court.  He  was  at  his  table  one 
afternoon,  writing  to  the  worthy  De  Freydet  a  letter 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY'  211 

of  good  news  about  his  candidature,  when  the  old 
cracked  door-bell  was  violently  rung.  Corentine 
had  just  gone  out,  so  he  went  to  the  door,  where,  to 
his  astonishment,  he  was  confronted  by  Baron  Huche- 
nard  and  Bos  the  dealer  in  manuscripts.  Bos  dashed 
into  the  study  wildly  waving  his  arms,  while  breath- 
less ejaculations  flew  out  of  his  red  tangle  of  beard 
and  hair  :  '  Forged  !  The  documents  are  forged  !  I 
can  prove  it !     I  can  prove  it !' 

Astier-R<£hu,  not  understanding  at  first,  looked  at 
the  Baron,  who  looked  at  the  ceiling.  But  when  he 
had  picked  up  the  meaning  of  the  dealer's  outcry — 
that  the  three  autograph  letters  of  Charles  V.,  sold 
by  Madame  Astier  to  Bos  and  by  him  transferred  to 
Huchenard,  were  asserted  not  to  be  genuine — he  said 
with  a  disdainful  smile,  that  he  would  readily  re- 
purchase them,  as  he  regarded  them  with  a  confidence 
not  to  be  affected  by  any  means  whatsoever. 

'Allow  me,  Mr.  Secretary,  allow  me.     I    would 

ask  you,'  said  Baron  Huchenard,  slowly  unbuttoning 

his   macintosh  as  he   spoke,  and  drawing  the  three 

documents  out  of  a  large  envelope, '  to  observe  this.' 

The  parchments  were  so  changed  as  scarcely  to  seem 

the    same ;    their   smoky  brown  was  bleached  to  a 

perfect  whiteness ;  and  upon  each,  clear  and  legible 

in  the  middle  of  the  page,  below  the  signature  of 

Charles  V.,  was  this  mark, 

p  2 


212  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

BB. 

Angouleme 
1836. 

1  It  was  Delpech,  the  Professor  of  Chemistry,  our 
learned  colleague  of  the  Academie  des  Sciences, 
who—'  but  of  the  Baron's  explanation  nothing  but  a 
confused  murmur  reached  poor  Leonard.  There  was 
no  colour  in  his  face,  nor  a  drop  of  blood  left  at  the 
tips  of  the  big  heavy  fingers,  in  whose  hold  the  three 
autographs  shook. 

'The  800/.  shall  be  at  your  house  this  evening, 
M.  Bos,'  he  managed  to  say  at  last  with  what  mois- 
ture was  left  in  his  mouth. 

Bos  protested  and  appealed.  The  Baron  had 
given  him  900/. 

'900/.,  then,'  said  Astier-Rehu,  making  a  great 
effort  to  show  them  out.  But  in  the  dimly-lighted 
hall  he  kept  back  his  colleague,  and  begged  him 
humbly,  as  a  Member  of  the  Academie  des  Inscrip- 
tions, and  for  the  honour  of  the  whole  Institute,  to 
say  nothing  of  this  unlucky  affair. 

1  Certainly,  my  dear  sir,  certainly,  on  one  condi- 
tion.' 

'  Name  it,  name  it' 

'  You  will  shortly  receive  notice  that  I  am  a 
candidate    for    Loisillon's   chair.'      The    Secretary's 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  21  3 

answer  was  a  firm  clasp  of  hand  in  hand,  which 
pledged  the  assistance  of  himself  and  his  friendc. 

Once  alone,  the  unhappy  man  sank  down  before 
the  table  with  its  load  of  proofs,  on  which  lay  out- 
spread the  three  forged  letters  to  Rabelais.  He 
gazed  at  them  blankly,  and  mechanically  read : 
' Maitre  Rabelais,  vons  qiCavez  F esprit  fin  et  subtil' 
The  characters  seemed  to  go  round  and  round  in  a 
mixture  of  ink,  dissolved  into  broad  blots  of  sulphate 
of  iron,  which  to  his  imagination  went  on  spreading, 
till  they  reached  his  whole  collection  of  originals,  ten 
or  twelve  thousand,  all  unhappily  got  from  the  same 
quarter.  Since  these  three  were  forged,  what  of  his 
'Galileo'? — what  of  his  'House  of  Orleans'? — the 
letter  of  Catherine  II.  which  he  had  presented  to  the 
Grand  Duke  ? — the  letter  of  Rotrou,  which  he  had 
solemnly  bestowed  upon  the  Acadcmie  ?  What  ? 
What  ?  A  spasm  of  energy  brought  him  to  his  legs. 
Fage  !     He  must  at  once  see  Fage ! 

His  dealings  with  the  bookbinder  had  begun 
some  years  before,  when  the  little  man  had  come  one 
day  to  the  Library  of  the  Foreign  Office  to  request 
the  opinion  of  its  learned  and  illustrious  Keeper 
respecting  a  letter  from  Marie  de  Medicis  to  Pope 
Urban  VIII.  in  favour  of  Galileo.  It  happened  that 
Petit-Sdquard  had  just  announced  as  forthcoming, 
among  a  series  of  short  light  volumes  on   history, 


214  0NE  0F  THE  'FORTY' 

entitled  '  Holiday  Studies,'  a '  Galileo '  by  Astier-Rehu 
of  the  Academie  Frangaise.  When  therefore  the 
librarian's  trained  judgment  had  assured  him  that 
the  MS.  was  genuine,  and  he  was  told  that  Fage 
possessed  also  the  letter  of  the  Pope  in  reply,  a  letter 
of  thanks  from  Galileo  to  the-  Queen,  and  others,  he 
conceived  instantaneously  the  idea  of  writing,  instead 
of  the  '  slight  trifle,'  a  great  historical  work.  But  his 
probity  suggesting  at  the  same  moment  a  doubt  as 
to  the  source  of  these  documents,  he  looked  the 
dwarf  steadily  in  the  face,  and  after  examining,  as  he 
would  have  examined  an  original,  the  long  pallid 
visage  and  the  reddened,  blinking  eye-lids,  said, 
with  an  inquisitorial  snap  of  the  jaw,  'Are  these 
manuscripts  your  own,  M.  Fage  ?  ' 

'  Oh  no,  sir,'  said  Fage.  He  was  merely  acting 
on  behalf  of  a  third  person,  an  old  maiden  lady  of 
good  birth,  who  was  obliged  to  part  gradually  with 
a  very  fine  collection,  which  had  belonged  to  the 
family  ever  since  Louis  XVI.  Nor  had  he  been 
willing  to  act,  till  he  had  taken  the  opinion  of  a 
scholar  of  the  highest  learning  and  character.  Now, 
relying  upon  so  competent  a  judgment,  he  should  go 
to  rich  collectors,  such  as  Baron  Huchenard,  for 
instance  —  but  Astier-Rehu  stopped  him,  saying, 
'  Do  not  trouble  yourself.  Bring  me  all  you  have 
relating   to   Galileo.     I  can  dispose   of  it'     People 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY*  21 5 

were  coming  in  and  taking  their  places  at  the  little 
tables,  the  sort  of  people  who  prowl  and  hunt  in 
libraries,  colourless  and  taciturn  as  diggers  from  the 
mines,  with  an  air  as  if  they  had  themselves  been  dug 
up  out  of  somewhere  close  and  damp.  '  Come  to  my 
private  room,  upstairs,  not  here,'  whispered  the 
librarian  in  the  big  ear  of  the  humpback  as  he  moved 
away,  displaying  his  gloves,  oiled  hair,  and  middle 
parting  with  the  self-sufficiency  often  observable  in 
his  species. 

The  collection  of  Mademoiselle  du  Mesnil-Case, 
a  name  disclosed  by  Albin  Fage  only  under  solemn 
promise  of  secrecy,  proved  to  be  an  inexhaustible 
treasure  of  papers  relating  to  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries,  which  threw  all  sorts  of  interest- 
ing lights  upon  the  past,  and  sometimes,  by  a  word 
or  a  date,  overturned  completely  the  established 
opinions  about  facts  or  persons.  Whatever  the  price, 
Leonard  Astier  took  and  kept  every  one  of  the 
documents,  which  almost  always  fitted  in  with  his 
commenced  or  projected  works.  Without  a  shadow 
of  doubt  he  accepted  the  little  man's  account  of  the 
masses  of  originals  that  were  still  accumulating  dust 
in  the  attic  of  an  ancient  mansion  at  M£nilmontant. 
If,  after  some  venomous  criticism  from  'the  first 
collector  in  France,'  his  trust  was  slightly  disturbed 
the  suspicion  could  not  but  vanish  when  the  book- 


2l6  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY' 

binder,  seated  at  his  table  or  watering  his  vegetables 
in  the  quiet  grass-grown  yard,  met  it  with  perfect 
composure,  and  offered  in  particular  a  quite  natural 
explanation  of  certain  marks  of  erasure  and  re- 
storation, visible  on  some  of  the  pages,  as  due  to  the 
submergence  of  the  collection  in  sea-water,  when  it 
was  sent  to  England  during  the  emigration.  After 
this  fresh  assurance  Astier-Rehu  would  go  back  to 
the  gate  with  a  lively  step,  carrying  off  each  time  a 
purchase  for  which  he  had  given,  according  to  its 
historical  value,  a  cheque  for  twenty,  forty,  or  even  as 
much  as  eighty  pounds. 

These  extravagances,  unsuspected  as  yet  by  those 
around  him,  were  prompted,  whatever  he  might  say 
to  quiet  his  conscience,  not  so  much  by  the  motives 
of  the  historian  as  by  those  of  the  collector.  This, 
even  in  a  place  so  ill-adapted  for  seeing  and  hearing 
as  the  attic  in  the  Rue  de  Beaune,  where  the  bargains 
were  usually  struck,  would  have  been  patent  to  any 
observer.  The  tone  of  pretended  indifference,  the 
'Let  me  see'  muttered  with  dry  lips,  the  quiveri  ig  of 
the  covetous  fingers,  marked  the  progress  from  pas- 
sion to  mania,  the  growth  of  the  hard  and  selfish 
cyst,  which  was  feeding  its  monstrous  size  upon 
the  ruin  ot  the  whole  organism.  Astier  was  be- 
coming the  intractable  Harpagon  of  the  stage,  piti- 
less to  others  as  to  himself,  bewailing  his  poverty 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  217 

and  riding  in  the  omnibus,  while  in  two  years  nearly 
6500/.  of  his  savings  dropped  secretly  into  the  pocket 
of  the  humpback.  To  account  to  Madame  Astier, 
Corentine,  and  Teyssedre  for  the  frequent  visits  of 
the  little  man,  he  received  from  the  Academician 
pamphlets  to  bind,  which  he  took  away  and  brought 
back  ostentatiously.  They  corresponded  by  a  sort 
of  privat~  code.  Fage  would  write  on  a  post-card, 
'  I  have  some  new  tooling  to  show  you,  sixteenth 
century,  in  good  condition  and  rare.'  Astier  would 
temporise  :  '  Not  wanted,  thanks.  Perhaps  later.' 
Then  would  come  '  My  dear  Sir,  Do  not  think  of 
it.  I  will  try  elsewhere,'  and  to  this  the  Acade- 
mician invariably  answered  '  Early  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. Bring  the  tooling.'  Here  was  the  torment  of 
the  collector's  pleasure.  He  must  buy  and  buy,  or 
else  let  pass  to  Bos,  Huchenard,  or  some  other  rival 
the  treasures  of  Menilmontant.  Sometimes  the 
thought  of  the  time  when  money  must  fail  would 
put  him  into  a  grim  rage,  and  infuriated  by  the  calm, 
self-satisfied  countenance  of  the  dwarf,  he  would  ex- 
claim '  More  than  6400/.  in  two  years  !  And  still, 
you  say,  the  lady  is  in  want  of  money  !  How  on 
earth  does  she  get  rid  of  it  ?  '  At  such  moments  he 
longed  for  the  death  of  the  old  maid,  the  annihila- 
tion of  the  bookbinder,  even  a  war,  revolution,  or 
general   catastrophe,  which  might  swallow  up   both 


2l8  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

the  treasure  and  the  relentless  speculators  who 
worked  it. 

And  now  the  catastrophe  was  indeed  near,  not 
the  catastrophe  desired,  for  destiny  never  finds  to  her 
hand  precisely  the  thing  we  asked  for,  but  a  turn  of 
things  so  sudden  and  appalling  as  to  threaten  his 
work,  his  honour,  fortune,  and  fame,  all  that  he  was 
and  all  that  he  had.  As  he  strode  away  towards  the 
Cour  des  Comptes,  deadly  pale  and  talking  to  him- 
self, the  booksellers  and  print-dealers  along  the 
quay  scarcely  recognised  the  Astier-Rehu  who, 
instead  of  looking  right  into  the  shop  for  a  bow,  now 
passed  them  without  recognition.  To  him  neither 
person  nor  thing  was  visible.  In  imagination  he  was 
grasping  the  humpback  by  the  throat,  shaking  him 
by  his  pin-bespangled  scarf,  and  thrusting  under  his 
nose  the  autographs  dishonoured  by  the  chemistry 
of  Delpech,  with  the  question,  '  Now  then,  what  is 
your  answer  to  that  ?  ' 

When  he  reached  the  Rue  de  Lille,  he  dashed 
through  the  door  of  rough  planks  in  the  fence  which 
surrounds  the  ruins,  went  up  the  steps,  and  rang  the 
bell  once  and  again.  He  was  struck  by  the  gloomy 
look  of  the  building,  now  that  no  flowers  or  greenery 
covered  the  nakedness  of  the  gaping,  crumbling 
masonry  and  the  confusion  of  the  twisted  iron-work  and 
leafless  creepers.     The  sound  of  pattens  came  slowly 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY*  2IQ 

across  the  chilly  court,  and  the  caretaker  appeared, 
a  solid  woman,  who,  broom  in  hand  and  without 
opening  the  gate,  said,  '  You  want  the  bookbinder ; 
but  he  isn't  here  now.'  Not  here !  Yes,  Fage  had 
gone,  and  left  no  address.  In  fact,  she  was  just  clean- 
ing up  the  cottage  for  the  man  who  was  to  have  the 
appointment  to  the  Cour  des  Comptes,  which  Fage 
had  resigned. 

Astier-Rehu,  for  appearance'  sake,  stammered  out 
a  word  or  two,  but  his  voice  was  lost  in  the  harsh 
and  mournful  cries  of  a  great  flight  of  black  birds, 
which  made  the  arches  echo  as  they  descended  upon 
the  court.  '  Why,  here  are  the  Duchess's  rooks  ! ' 
said  the  woman,  with  a  respectful  wave  of  the  hand 
towards  the  bare  plane-trees  of  the  Hotel  Padovani, 
visible  over  the  roof  opposite.  '  They  are  come 
before  the  Duchess  this  year,  and  that  means  an 
early  winter  ! ' 

He  went  away,  with  horror  in  his  heart. 


220  ONE   OF  THE  'FORTY' 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  day  following  that  on  which  the  Duchess  Pado- 
vani,  to  show  herself  smiling  under  the  blow  which 
had  fallen  upon  her,  had  appeared  at  the  theatre,  she 
went,  as  she  usually  did  at  that  time  of  year,  to 
Mousseaux.  She  made  no  change  in  her  plans.  She 
had  sent  out  her  invitations  for  the  season,  and  did 
not  cancel  them.  But  before  the  arrival  of  the  first 
instalment  of  visitors,  during  the  few  days'  solitude 
usually  spent  in  superintending  in  detail  the  arrange- 
ments for  entertaining  her  guests,  she  passed  the 
whole  time  from  morning  to  night  in  the  park  at 
Mousseaux,  whose  slopes  stretched  far  and  wide  on 
the  banks  of  the  Loire.  She  would  go  madly  along, 
like  a  wounded  and  hunted  animal,  stop  for  a  moment 
from  exhaustion,  and  then  at  a  throb  of  pain  start 
off  again.  '  Coward  !  coward  !  wretch  \ '  She  hurled 
invectives  at  the  Prince  as  though  he  had  been  by  her 
side,  and  still  she  walked  with  the  same  fevered  tread 
the  labyrinth  of  green  paths  which  ran  down  in  long 
shady  windings  to  the  river.  Here,  forgetting  her 
rank  and  her  position,  flinging  off  her  mask  and  able 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  221 

to  be  natural  at  last,  she  would  give  vent  to  her 
despair,  a  despair  perhaps  something  less  than  her 
wrath,  for  the  voice  of  pride  spoke  louder  within  her 
than  any  other,  and  the  few  tears  which  escaped  her 
lids  did  not  flow,  but  leaped  and  sparkled  like 
flames.  Revenge,  revenge !  She  longed  for  a  re- 
venge of  blood,  and  sometimes  pictured  one  of  her 
foresters,  Bertoli  or  Salviato,  going  off  abroad  to  put 
a  bullet  into  him  on  his  wedding-day.  Then  she 
changed  her  mind.  No,  she  would  deal  the  blow 
herself,  and  feel  the  joy  of  the  vendetta  in  her  own 
grasp.  She  envied  the  women  of  lower  class  who 
wait  behind  a  doorway  for  the  traitor,  and  fling  in  his 
face  a  bottle  full  of  vitriol  with  a  storm  of  hideous 
curses.  Why  did  she  not  know  some  of  the  horrible 
names  that  relieve  the  heart,  some  foul  insult  to 
shriek  at  the  mean  treacherous  companion  who  rose 
before  her  mind  with  the  hesitating  look  and  false 
constrained  smile  he  wore  at  their  last  meeting  ?  But 
even  in  her  savage  Corsican  patois  the  great  lady 
knew  no  '  nasty  words,'  and  when  she  had  cried 
'  Coward  !  coward  !  wretch  ! '  her  beautiful  mouth 
could  only  writhe  in  helpless  rage. 

In  the  evening  after  her  solitary  dinner  in  the  vast 
hall,  whose  panelling  of  old  leather  was  gilt  by  the 
setting  sun,  her  wild  pacing  to  and  fro  began  again. 
Now  it  was  on  the   gallery  overhanging  the   river, 


222  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

quaintly  restored  by  Paul  Astier,  with  open  arcades 
like  lace-work  and  two  pretty  corbel-turrets.  Below 
on  the  Loire,  outspread  like  a  lake,  there  still  lingered 
a  delicate  silvery  light  from  the  departing  day,  while 
the  hazy  evening  air  exaggerated  the  distances 
between  the  willow  beds  and  islands  out  towards 
Chaumont.  But  poor  Mari'  Anto  did  not  look  at 
the  view  when,  worn  out  with  retracing  the  steps  of 
her  grief,  she  leant  both  elbows  on  the  balustrade 
and  gazed  into  the  dimness.  Her  life  appeared 
before  her,  waste  and  desolate,  at  an  age  when  it  is 
difficult  to  make  a  fresh  start.  A  faint  sound  of 
voices  rose  from  Mousseaux,  a  group  of  two  or  three 
small  houses  on  the  embankment ;  the  chain  of  a  boat 
creaked  as  the  night  breeze  rose.  How  easy  it  would 
be  !  Grief  had  bowed  down  her  head  so  low,  that  if 
she  were  but  to  lean  forward  a  little  farther.  .  .  .  But 
then  what  would  the  world  say  ?  A  woman  of  her  rank 
and  age  could  not  kill  herself  like  any  little  grisette  ! 
The  third  day  Paul's  note  arrived,  and  with  it  the 
newspapers'  detailed  report  of  the  duel.  It  gave  her 
the  same  delight  as  a  warm  pressure  of  the  hand. 
So  some  one  still  cared  for  her,  and  had  wanted  to 
avenge  her  at  the  risk  of  his  life !  Not  that  Paul's 
feeling  was  love,  she  supposed,  but  only  a  grateful 
affection,  the  reminiscence  of  kindnesses  done  by  her 
to  him  and  his  family,  perhaps  an  imperative  desire 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  223 

to  atone  for  his  mother's  treachery.  Generous,  brave 
fellow !  If  she  had  been  in  Paris,  she  would  have 
gone  to  him  at  once,  but  as  her  guests  were  just  due, 
she  could  only  write  and  send  him  her  own  doctor. 

Every  hour  came  fresh  arrivals  from  Blois  and 
from  Onzain,  Mousseaux  lying  half  way  between  the 
two  stations.  The  landau,  the  victoria,  and  two  great 
breaks  set  down  at  the  steps  in  the  great  court,  amid 
the  incessant  ringing  of  the  bell,  many  illustrious 
members  of  the  Duchess's  set,  academicians  and 
diplomatists,  the  Count  and  Countess  Foder,  the 
Comte  de  Bretigny  and  his  son  the  Vicomte,  who  was 
a  Secretary  of  Legation,  M.  and  Madame  Desminieres, 
Laniboire  the  philosopher,  who  had  come  to  the 
castle  to  draw  up  his  report  on  the  award  of  the  Prix  de 
verttiy  the  young  critic  of  Shelley,  who  was  '  run '  by 
the  Padovani  set,  and  Danjou,  handsome  Danjou,  all 
by  himself,  though  his  wife  had  been  asked.  Life  at 
Mousseaux  was  exactly  what  it  had  been  the  year 
before.  The  day  passed  in  calls,  or  work  in  the 
separate  rooms,  meals,  general  conversation,  after- 
noon naps  ;  then,  when  the  great  heat  was  passed, 
came  long  drives  through  the  woods,  or  sails  on  the 
river  in  the  little  fleet  of  boats  anchored  at  the  bottom 
of  the  park.  Parties  would  be  made  to  picnic  on  an 
island,  and  some  of  the  guests  would  repair  to  the 
fish  preserves,  which  were  always  well  stocked  with 


224  ONE  OF   THE   '  FORTY  ' 

lively  fish,  as  the  keeper  took  care  to  replenish  them 
from  his  nets  before  each  expedition.  Then  every 
one  came  back  to  the  ceremonious  dinner,  after  which 
the  gentlemen,  when  they  had  smoked  in  the  billiard 
room  or  on  the  gallery,  joined  the  ladies  in  a  splendid 
apartment,  which  had  been  the  council-chamber  of 
Catherine  de  Medicis. 

All  round  the  huge  room  were  depicted  in  tapestry 
the  loves  of  Dido  and  her  despair  at  the  departure  of 
the  Trojan  ships.  The  irony  of  this  strange  coinci- 
dence was  not  remarked  by  any  one,  so  little  do  people 
in  society  regard  their  surroundings,  less  for  want  of 
observation  than  because  they  are  always  and  fully 
occupied  with  their  personal  behaviour  and  the  effect 
they  are  to  produce.  But  there  was  a  striking  con- 
trast between  the  tragic  despair  of  the  abandoned 
queen,  gazing  with  arms  uplifted  and  streaming  eyes 
as  the  little  black  speck  disappeared,  and  the  smiling 
serenity  of  the  Duchess,  as  she  presided  in  the 
drawing-room,  maintaining  her  supremacy  over  the 
other  ladies,  whose  dress  and  whose  reading  were 
guided  by  her  taste,  or  joining  in  the  discussions 
between  Laniboire  and  the  young  critic,  and  in  the 
disputes  waged  over  the  candidates  for  Loisillon's 
seat  by  Desminieres  and  Danjou.  Indeed,  if  the 
Prince  d'Athis,  the  faithless  Sammy,  whose  name  was 
in  every  one's  thoughts,  though  on  no  one's  lips,  could 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  225 

have  seen  her,  he  would  have  been  mortified  to  find 
how  small  was  the  gap  left  in  a  woman's  life  by  his 
absence,  and  how  busy  was  the  turmoil  throughout 
the  royal  castle  of  Mousseaux,  where  in  all  the  long 
front  there  were  but  three  windows  shut  up,  those 
belonging  to  what  were  called  '  the  Prince's  rooms.' 

'  She  takes  it  well,'  said  Danjou  the  first  evening. 
And  neither  little  Countess  Foder,  from  whose  massy 
lace  protruded  a  very  sharp  inquisitive  little  nose,  nor 
sentimental  Madame  Desminieres,  who  had  looked 
forward  to  lamentations  and  confidences,  could  get 
over  such  amazing  courage.  In  truth  they  were  as 
much  amazed  at  her  as  if  going  to  a  long-expected 
play  they  had  found  the  house  '  closed  for  the  day  ' ; 
while  the  men  took  Ariadne's  equanimity  as  an  en- 
couragement to  would-be  successors.  The  real  change 
in  the  Duchess's  life  lay  in  the  attitude  observed  to- 
wards her  by  all  or  nearly  all  the  men  ;  they  were 
less  reserved,  more  sedulous,  more  eager  to  please 
her,  and  fluttered  round  her  chair  with  an  obvious 
desire,  not  merely  to  merit  her  patronage,  but  to 
attract  her  regard. 

Never  indeed  had  Maria  Antonia  been  more 
beautiful.  When  she  entered  the  dining-room  the 
tempered  brilliancy  of  her  complexion  and  her 
shoulders  in  their  light  summer  robe  made  a  bright 
place  at  the  table,  even  when  the  Marquise  de  Roca 

Q 


226  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY' 

Nera  had  come  over  from  her  neighbouring  country 
seat  on  the  other  side  of  the  Loire.     The  Marquise 
was   younger,   but    no   one  would    have  thought  so 
to  look   at  them.     Laniboire,   the   philosopher,   was 
strongly    attracted    to    the    Duchess.       He   was    a 
widower,  well  on  in  years,  with  heavy  features  and 
apoplectic    complexion,    but     he    did    his    best    to 
captivate  his  hostess  by  the  display  of  a  manly  and 
sportsmanlike  activity  which  led  him  into  occasional 
mishaps.     One  day,  in  a  boat,  as  he  tried  to  make  a 
great  display  of  biceps  over  his  rowing,  he  fell  into 
the  river  ;  another  time,  as  he  was  prancing  on  horse- 
back at  the  side  of  the  carriage,  his  mount  squeezed 
his  leg  so  hard  against  the  wheel  that  he  had  to  keep 
his  room  and   be   bandaged   for  several  days.     But 
the  finest  spectacle  was  to  see  him  in  the  drawing- 
room,   'dancing,'  as  Danjou   said,  'before  the  Ark.' 
He  stretched  and  bent   his  unwieldy  person   in  all 
directions.     He  would  challenge  to  a  philosophic  duel 
the  young  critic,  a  confirmed  pessimist  of  three-and- 
tvventy,  and  overwhelm  him  with  his  own  imperturb- 
able optimism.     Laniboire  the  philosopher  had  one 
particular  reason  for  this  good  opinion  of  the  world  ; 
his  wife  had  died  of  diphtheria  caught  from  nursing 
their  children  ;  both  his  children  had  died  with  their 
mother  ;  and  each  time  that  he  repeated  his  dithyramb 
in  praise  of  existence,  the  philosopher  concluded  his 


ONE  OF   THE  ' FORTY'  227 

statement  with  a  sort  of  practical  demonstration,  a 
bow  to  the  Duchess,  which  seemed  to  say,  '  How  can 
a  man  think  ill  of  life  in  the  presence  of  such  beauty 
as  yours  ? ' 

The  young  critic  paid  his  court  in  a  less  con- 
spicuous and  sufficiently  cunning  fashion.  He  was 
an  immense  admirer  of  the  Prince  d'Athis,  and  being 
at  the  age  when  admiration  shows  itself  by  imitation, 
he  no  sooner  made  his  entry  into  society  than  he 
copied  Sammy's  attitudes,  his  walk,  even  the  car- 
riage of  his  head,  his  bent  back,  and  vague  myste- 
rious smile  of  contemptuous  reserve.  Now  he  in- 
creased the  resemblance  by  details  of  dress,  which  he 
had  observed  and  collected  with  the  sharpness  of  a 
child,  from  the  way  of  pinning  his  tie  just  at  the 
opening  of  the  collar  to  the  fawn-coloured  check  of 
his  English  trousers.  Unfortunately  he  had  too 
much  hair  and  not  a  scrap  of  beard,  so  that  his 
efforts  were  quite  thrown  away,  and  revived  no  un- 
comfortable memories  in  the  Duchess,  who  was  as 
indifferent  to  his  English  checks  as  she  was  to  the 
languishing  glances  of  Bretigjiyyf/i-,  or  the  significant 
pressure  of  Bretigny  pere,  as  he  gave  her  his  arm  to 
dinner.  But  all  this  helped  to  surround  her  with 
that  atmosphere  of  gallantry  to  which  she  had  long 
been  accustomed  by  D'Athis,  who  played  the  humble 
servant  to  the  verge  of   servility,   and  to   save  her 

Q2 


228  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY* 

woman's  pride  from  the  conscious  humiliation  of 
abandonment. 

Amidst  all  these  aspirants  Danjou  kept  somewhat 
aloof,  amusing  the  Duchess  with  his  green-room 
stories  and  making  her  laugh,  a  way  of  self-recom- 
mendation in  certain  cases  not  unsuccessful.  But 
the  time  came  when  he  thought  matters  sufficiently 
advanced  :  and  one  morning  when  she  was  starting 
for  her  rapid  solitary  walk  with  her  dogs  through  the 
park,  in  the  hope  of  leaving  her  wrath  behind  in  the 
thickets  with  the  waking  birds,  or  of  cooling  and 
tempering  it  among  the  dewy  lawns  and  dripping 
branches — suddenly,  at  a  turn  in  the  path,  appeared 
Danjou,  ready  for  the  attack.  Dressed  from  head  to 
foot  in  white  flannels,  his  trousers  tucked  into  his 
boots,  with  a  picturesque  cap  and  a  well-trimmed 
beard,  he  was  trying  to  find  a  denouement  for  a  three- 
act  drama,  to  be  ready  for  the  Frangais  that  winter. 
The  name  was  '  Appearances,'  and  the  subject  a 
satire  on  society.  Everything  was  written  but  the 
final  scene. 

'  Well,  let  us  try  what  we  can  do  together,'  said 
the  Duchess  brightly,  as  she  cracked  the  long  lash  of 
the  short-handled  whip  with  silver  whistle,  which  she 
used  to  call  in  her  dogs.  But  the  moment  they 
turned  to  walk  together,  he  began  to  talk  of  his  love, 
and  how  sad  it  would  be  for  her  to  live  alone ;  and 


ONE  OF  THE   'FORTY'  229 

ended  by  offering  himself,  after  his  own  fashion, 
straight  out  and  with  no  circumlocutions.  The 
Duchess,  with  a  quick  movement  of  pride,  threw  up 
her  head,  grasping  her  whip  handle  tightly,  as  if  to 
strike  the  insolent  fellow  who  dared  to  talk  to  her  as 
he  might  to  a  super  at  the  opera.  But  the  insult 
was  also  a  compliment,  and  there  was  pleasure  as 
well  as  anger  in  her  blush.  Danjou  steadily  urged 
his  point,  and  tried  to  dazzle  her  with  his  polished 
wit,  pretending  to  treat  the  matter  less  as  a  love 
affair  than  as  an  intellectual  partnership.  A  man 
like  himself  and  a  woman  like  her  might  command 
the  world. 

'  Many  thanks,  my  dear  Danjou  ;  such  specious 
reasoning  is  not  new  to  me.  I  am  suffering  from  it 
still.'  Then  with  a  haughty  wave  of  her  hand,  which 
allowed  no  reply,  she  pointed  out  the  shady  path 
which  the  dramatist  was  to  follow,  and  said,  '  Look 
for  your  denouement ;  I  am  going  in.'  He  stood 
where  he  was,  completely  disconcerted,  and  gazed 
at  her  beautiful  carriage  as  she  walked  away. 

'  Not  even  as  zebra  ?  '  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  appeal. 

She  looked  round,  her  black  brows  meeting. 
'  Ah,  yes,  you  are  right ;  the  post  is  vacant'  Her 
thoughts  went  to  Lavaux,  the  base  underling  for 
whom  she  had  done  so  much,  and  without  a  smile 
she  answered   in  a  weary  voice,  '  Zebra,  if  you  like.' 


23O  ONE  OF  THE  '  FORTY  ' 

Then  she  vanished  behind  a  little  group  of  fine 
yellow  roses  a  little  overblown,  whose  leaves  would 
be  scattered  at  the  first  fresh  breeze. 

It  was  something  to  boast  of  that  the  proud 
Mari'  Anto'  had  heard  him  through.  Probably  no 
other  man,  not  even  her  Prince,  had  ever  spoken  to 
her  thus.  Full  of  the  inspiration  of  hope,  and  stimu- 
lated by  the  fine  speeches  he  had  just  thrown  off,  the 
dramatist  soon  hit  upon  his  final  scene.  He  was 
going  back  to  write  it  out  before  breakfast,  when  he 
stopped  short  in  surprise  at  seeing  through  the 
branches  '  the  Prince's  '  windows  open  to  the  sunlight. 
Who  was  coming  ?  What  favourite  guest  was  to  be 
honoured  with  those  convenient  and  luxurious  rooms, 
looking  over  the  river  and  the  park  ?  He  made  in- 
quiries, and  was  reassured.  It  was  her  Grace's 
architect ;  he  was  coming  to  the  castle  after  an 
illness.  Considering  the  intimacy  between  the  lady 
and  the  Astiers,  nothing  was  more  natural  than  that 
Paul  should  be  entertained  like  a  son  of  the  house  in 
a  mansion  which  he  had  more  or  less  created.  Still, 
when  the  new  arrival  took  his  seat  at  breakfast,  his 
chastened  delicacy  of  feature,  his  paleness  the  paler 
by  a  white  silk  kerchief — his  duel,  his  wound,  and  the 
general  flavour  of  romance  surrounding  him  seemed 
to  make  so  keen  an  impression  on  the  ladies,  and 
called  forth  such  affectionate  interest  and  care  on  the 


ONE  OF  THE   'FORTY'  23 1 

part  of  the  Duchess  herself,  that  handsome  Danjou, 
being  one  of  those  all-engrossing  persons  to  whom 
any  other  man's  success  seems  a  personal  loss,  if  not 
downright  robbery,  felt  a  jealous  pang.  With  his  eyes 
on  his  plate  he  took  advantage  of  his  position  by  the 
hostess  to  murmur  some  depreciatory  remarks  upon 
the  pretty  young  fellow,  unfortunately  so  much  dis- 
figured by  his  mother's  nose.  He  made  merry  over 
his  duel,  his  wound,  and  his  reputation  in  the  fencing- 
room,  the  kind  of  bubble  which  bursts  at  the  first  prick 
of  a  real  sword.  He  added,  not  knowing  how  near  he 
was  to  the  truth,  '  The  quarrel  at  cards  was  of  course 
a  mere  pretext ;  there  was  a  woman  at  the  bottom 
of  it.' 

1  Of  the  duel  ?  Do  you  think  so  ? '  His  nod  said 
'  I  am  sure  of  it'  Much  admiring  his  own  clever- 
ness, he  turned  to  the  company,  and  dazzled  them 
with  his  epigrams  and  anecdotes.  He  never  went 
into  society  without  providing  himself  with  a  store  of 
these  pocket  squibs.  Paul  was  no  match  for  him 
here,  and  the  ladies'  interest  soon  reverted  to  the 
brilliant  talker,  especially  when  he  announced  that, 
having  got  his  denouement  and  finished  his  play,  he 
would  read  it  in  the  drawing-room  while  it  was  too 
hot  to  go  out.  A  universal  exclamation  of  delight 
from  the  ladies  welcomed  this  invaluable  relief  to  the 
day's   monotony.      What   a   precious    privilege    for 


232  ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY' 

them,  proud  as  they  were  already  of  dating  their 
letters  from  Mousseaux,  to  be  able  to  send  to  all  their 
dear  friends,  who  were  not  there,  accounts  of  an  un- 
published play  by  Danjou,  read  by  Danjou  himself, 
and  then  next  winter  to  be  in  a  position  to  say  when 
the  rehearsals  were  going  on,  '  Oh,  Danjou's  play  !  I 
know  it  ;  he  read  it  to  us  at  the  castle.' 

As  the  company  rose,  full  of  excitement  at  this 
good  news,  the  Duchess  went  towards  Paul,  and 
taking  his  arm  with  her  graceful  air  of  command 
said,  '  Come  for  a  turn  on  the  gallery  ;  it  is  stifling 
here.'  The  air  was  heavy  even  at  the  height  of  the 
gallery,  for  there  rose  from  the  steaming  river  a  mist 
of  heat,  which  overspread  and  blurred  the  irregular 
green  outlines  of  its  banks  and  of  its  low  floating 
islands.  She  led  the  young  man  away  from  the 
smokers  right  to  the  end  of  the  furthest  bay,  and 
then  clasping  his  hand  said,  '  So  it  was  for  me ;  it 
was  all  for  me.' 

'  Yes,  Duchess,  for  you.' 

And  he  pursed  his  lips  as  he  added,  '  And  pre- 
sently we  shall  have  another  try.' 

'  You  must  not  say  that,  you  naughty  boy.' 

She  stopped,  as  an  inquisitive  footstep  came 
towards  them.     '  Danjou  ! ' 

'Yes,  Duchess.' 

'  My  fan  ...  on  the  dining-room  table  .  .  .  would 


ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY'  233 

you  be  so  kind  ?  .  .  .'  When  he  was  some  way  off, 
she  said,  '  I  will  not  have  it,  Paul.  In  the  first  place, 
the  creature  is  not  worth  fighting.  Ah,  if  we  were 
alone — if  I  could  tell  you  ! '  The  fierceness  of  her 
tone  and  the  clenching  of  her  hands  betrayed  a  rage 
"that  amazed  Paul  Astier.  After  a  month  he  had 
hoped  to  find  her  calmer  than  this.  It  was  a  dis- 
appointment, and  it  checked  the  explosion, '  I  love  you 
— I  have  always  loved  you,'  which  was  to  have  been 
forced  from  him  at  the  first  confidential  interview.  He 
was  only  telling  the  story  of  the  duel,  in  which  she 
was  very  much  interested,  when  the  Academician 
brought  her  fan.  '  Well  fetched,  zebra  ! '  she  said  by 
way  of  thanks.  With  a  little  pout  he  answered  in 
the  same  strain  but  a  lowered  voice,  '  A  zebra  on 
promotion,  you  know  ! ' 

'  What,  wanting  to  be  raised  already ! '  She 
tapped  him  with  her  fan  as  she  spoke,  and  anxious 
to  put  him  in  a  good  temper  for  his  reading,  let  him 
escort  her  back  to  the  drawing-room,  where  his  manu- 
script was  lying  ready  on  a  dainty  card-table  in  the 
full  light  of  a  high  window  partly  open,  showing  the 
flower-garden  and  the  groups  of  great  trees. 

'  Appearances.  A  Drama  in  Three  Acts.  Dramatis 
Persona.  .  .  .  ' 

The  ladies,  getting  as  close  round  as  they  could, 
drew  themselves  together  with  the   charming  little 


234  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

shiver  which  is  their  way  of  anticipating  enjoyment. 
Danjou  read  like  a  genuine  '  Player '  of  Picheral's 
classification,  making  lengthy  pauses  while  he  mois- 
tened his  lips  with  his  glass  of  water,  and  wiped  them 
with  a  fine  cambric  handkerchief.  As  he  finished 
each  of  the  long  broad  pages,  scribbled  all  over  with 
his  tiny  handwriting,  he  let  it  fall  carelessly  at  his 
feet  on  the  carpet.  Each  time  Madame  de  Foder, 
who  hunts  the  '  lions  '  of  all  nations,  stooped  noise- 
lessly, picked  up  the  fallen  sheet,  and  placed  it 
reverently  upon  an  armchair  beside  her,  exactly  square 
with  the  sheets  before,  contriving,  in  this  subtle  and 
delicate  way,  to  take  a  certain  part  in  the  great  man's 
work.  It  was  as  if  Liszt  or  Rubinstein  had  been  at 
the  piano  and  she  had  been  turning  over  the  music. 
All  went  well  till  the  end  of  Act  I.,  an  interesting 
and  promising  introduction,  received  with  a  furore 
of  delighted  exclamations,  rapturous  laughter,  and 
enthusiastic  applause.  After  a  long  pause,  in  which 
was  audible  from  the  far  distance  of  the  park  the  hum 
of  the  insects  buzzing  about  the  tree-tops,  the  reader 
wiped  his  moustache,  and  resumed : 

Act  II.  The  scene  represents  .  .  .  But  here  his 
voice  began  to  break,  and  grew  huskier  with  every 
speech.  He  had  just  seen  an  empty  chair  among  the 
ladies  in  the  first  row  ;  it  was  Anton ia's  chair ;  and 
his  glances  strayed  over  his  eye-glass  searching  the 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  235 

whole  huge  room.  It  was  full  of  green  plants  and 
screens,  behind  which  the  auditors  had  ensconced 
themselves  to  hear — or  to  sleep — undisturbed.  At 
last,  in  one  of  the  numerous  and  regular  intervals 
provided  by  his  glass  of  water,  he  caught  a  whisper, 
then  a  glimpse  of  a  light  dress,  then,  at  the  far  end, 
on  a  sofa,  he  saw  the  Duchess  with  Paul  beside 
her,  continuing  the  conversation  interrupted  on  the 
gallery.  To  one  like  Danjou,  spoiled  with  every 
kind  of  success,  the  affront  was  deadly.  But  he  nerved 
himself  to  finish  the  Act,  throwing  his  pages  down  on 
the  floor  with  a  violence  which  made  them  fly,  and 
sent  little  Madame  de  Foder  crawling  after  them  on 
all  fours.  At  the  end  of  the  Act,  as  the  whispering 
still  went  on,  he  left  off,  pretending  that  he  was 
suddenly  taken  hoarse  and  must  defer  the  rest  till  the 
next  day.  The  Duchess,  absorbed  in  the  duel,  of  which 
she  could  not  hear  enough,  supposed  the  play  con- 
cluded, and  cried  from  the  distance,  clapping  her  little 
hands,  '  Bravo,  Danjou,  the  denouement  is  delicious.' 

That  evening  the  great  man  had,  or  said  he  had, 
a  bilious  attack,  and  very  early  next  morning  he  left 
Mousseaux  without  seeing  any  one  again.  Perhaps  it 
was  only  the  vexation  of  an  author  ;  perhaps  he  truly 
believed  that  young  Astier  was  going  to  succeed  the 
Prince.  However  that  may  be,  a  week  after  he  had 
gone  Paul  had  not  got  beyond  an  occasional  whispered 


236  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

word.  The  lady  showed  him  the  utmost  kindness, 
treated  him  with  the  care  of  a  mother,  asked  after  his 
health,  whether  he  did  not  find  the  tower  looking 
south  too  hot,  whether  the  shaking  of  the  carriage 
tired  him,  whether  it  was  not  too  late  for  him  to  stay- 
on  the  river.  But  the  moment  he  tried  to  mention 
the  word  '  love,'  she  was  off  without  seeming  to  under- 
stand. Still  he  found  her  a  very  different  creature 
from  the  proud  Antonia  of  other  years.  Then, 
haughty  and  calm,  she  would  show  impertinence  his 
place  by  a  mere  frown.  It  was  the  serenity  of  a 
majestic  river  flowing  between  its  embankments.  But 
now  the  embankment  was  giving  way ;  there  seemed 
to  be  a  crack  somewhere,  through  which  was  break- 
ing the  real  nature  of  the  woman.  She  had  fits  of 
rebellion  against  custom  and  social  convention,  which 
hitherto  she  had  respected  scrupulously,  sudden 
desires  to  go  somewhere  else,  and  to  tire  herself  in 
some  long  excursion.  She  planned  festivities,  fire- 
works, great  coursing  expeditions  for  the  autumn,  in 
which  she  would  take  the  lead,  though  it  was  years 
since  she  had  been  on  horseback.  Paul  watched 
carefully  the  vagaries  of  her  excitement,  and  kept  his 
sharp  hawk's-eye  upon  everything  ;  he  had  quite 
made  up  his  mind  not  to  dangle  for  two  years,  as  he 
had  round  Colette  de  Rosen. 

One  night  the  party  had  broken  up  early,  after  a 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  237 

tiring  day  of  driving  in  the  neighbourhood.  Paul  had 
gone  up  to  his  room,  and  having  thrown  off  his  coat 
was  sitting  in  his  slippers  smoking  a  cigar  and  writing 
to  his  mother  a  carefully  studied  epistle.  Mamma 
was  staying  at  Clos  Jallanges,  and  wearing  her  eyes 
out  with  looking  across  the  winding  river  into  the 
extreme  distance  for  a  glimpse  of  the  four  towers  of 
Mousseaux  :  and  he  had  to  convince  her  that  there 
was  no  chance  of  a  reconciliation  at  present  between 
her  and  her  friend,  and  that  they  had  better  not  meet. 
(No,  no  !  His  good  mother  was  much  too  fond  of  fish- 
ing on  her  own  hook  to  be  a  desirable  associate  !) 
He  had  to  remind  her  of  the  bill  due  at  the  end  of 
the  month,  and  her  promise  to  send  the  money  to 
good  little  Stenne,  who  had  been  left  in  the  Rue 
Fortuny  as  sole  garrison  of  the  mediaeval  mansion. 
If  Sammy's  money  had  not  yet  come  in,  she  might 
borrow  of  the  Freydets,  who  would  not  refuse  to 
advance  it  for  a  few  days.  That  very  morning  the 
Paris  papers  in  their  foreign  news  had  announced  the 
marriage  of  the  French  Ambassador  at  St.  Petersburg, 
mentioned  the  presence  of  the  Grand  Duke,  described 
the  bride's  dresses,  and  given  the  name  of  the  Polish 
Bishop  who  had  bestowed  his  blessing  on  the  happy 
pair.  Mamma  might  imagine  how  the  breakfast  party 
at  Mousseaux  was  affected  by  this  news,  known  to 
every  one,  and  read  by  the  hostess  in  the  eyes  of  her 


238  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

guests  and  in  their  persistent  conversation  on  other 
topics. 

The  poor  Duchess,  who  had  hardly  spoken  during 
the  meal,  felt,  when  it  was  over,  that  she  must  rouse 
herself,  and  in  spite  of  the  heat  had  carried  off  all 
her  visitors  in  three  carriages  to  the  Chateau  de  la 
Poissonniere,  where  the  poet  Ronsard  was  born.  Ten 
miles'  drive  in  the  sun  on  a  road  all  cracks  and  dust, 
for  the  pleasure  of  hearing  that  hideous  old  Lani- 
boire,  hoisted  on  to  an  old  stump  as  decayed  as 
himself,  recite  'Mignonne,  ailons  voir  si  la  rose.'  On 
the  way  home  they  had  paid  a  visit  to  the  Agricul- 
tural Orphanage  and  Training  School  founded  by  old 
Padovani.  Mamma  must  know  it  all  well ;  they  had 
been  over  the  dormitory  and  laundry,  and  inspected 
the  implements  and  the  copy-books ;  and  the  whole 
place  was  so  hot  and  smelly  ;  and  Laniboire  made 
a  speech  to  the  Agricultural  Orphans,  cropped  like 
convicts,  in  which  he  assured  them  that  the  world 
was  good.  To  finish  themselves  up  they  stopped 
again  at  the  furnaces  near  Onzain,  and  spent  an  hour 
between  the  heat  of  the  setting  sun  and  the  smoke 
and  smell  of  coal  from  three  huge  belching  brick 
chimneys,  stumbling  over  the  rails  and  dodging  the 
trucks  and  shovels  full  of  molten  metal  in  gigantic 
masses,  which  dropped  fire  like  dissolving  blocks  of  red 
ice.    All  the  time  the  Duchess  went  on  unwearied,  but 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  239 

looked  at  nothing,  listened  to  nothing.  She  seemed 
to  be  having  an  animated  discussion  with  old  Bretigny, 
whose  arm  she  had  taken,  and  paid  as  little  attention 
to  the  furnaces  and  forges  as  to  the  poet  Ronsard  or 
the  Agricultural  Orphanage. 

Paul  had  reached  this  point  in  his  letter,  painting 
with  terrible  force,  to  console  his  mother  for  her 
absence,  the  dullness  of  life  this  year  at  Mousseaux, 
when  he  heard  a  gentle  knock  at  his  door.  He 
thought  it  was  the  young  critic,  or  the  Vicomte 
de  Bretigny,  or  perhaps  Laniboire,  who  had  been 
very  unquiet  of  late.  All  these  had  often  prolonged 
the  evening  in  his  room,  which  was  the  largest  and 
most  convenient,  and  had  a  dainty  smoking-room 
attached  to  it.  He  was  very  much  surprised  on 
opening  his  door  to  see  by  the  light  of  the  painted 
windows  that  the  long  corridor  of  the  first  floor 
was  absolutely  silent  and  deserted,  right  away  to 
the  guard-room,  where  a  ray  of  moonlight  showed 
the  outline  of  the  carving  on  the  massive  door.  He 
was  going  back  to  his  seat,  when  there  came  another 
knock.  It  came  from  the  smoking-room,  which  com- 
municated by  a  little  door  under  the  hangings  with  a 
narrow  passage  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall  leading 
to  the  rooms  of  the  Duchess.  The  arrangement, 
dating  much  earlier  than  the  restorations,  was  not 
known  to  him  :  and,  as  he  remembered  certain  con- 


240  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY1 

versations  during  the  last  few  days,  when  the  men 
were  alone,  and  especially  some  of  the  stories  of  old 
Laniboire,  his  first  thought  was  '  Whew  !  I  hope  she 
did  not  hear  us.'  He  drew  the  bolt  and  the  Duchess 
passed  him  without  a  word,  and  laying  down  on  the 
table  where  he  had  been  writing  a  bundle  of  yellowish 
papers,  with  which  her  delicate  fingers  played  ner- 
vously, she  said  in  a  serious  voice  : 

'  I  want  you  to  give  me  your  advice ;  you  are  my 
friend,  and  I  have  no  one  else  to  confide  in.' 

No  one  but  him — poor  woman !  And  she  did 
not  take  warning  from  the  cunning  watchful  predatory 
glance,  which  shifted  from  the  letter,  imprudently  left 
open  on  the  table  where  she  might  have  read  it,  to 
herself  as  she  stood  there  with  her  arms  bare  and 
heavy  hair  coiled  round  and  round  her  head.  He  was 
thinking, '  What  does  she  want  ?  What  has  she  come 
for  ? '  She,  absorbed  in  the  requickened  wrath  which 
had  been  rising  and  choking  her  since  the  morning, 
panted  out  in  low  broken  sentences,  '  Just  before  you 
came,  he  sent  Lavaux — he  did  !  he  sent  Lavaux — to 
ask  for  his  letters  ! — I  gave  his  impudent  cheeks  such 
a  reception  that  he  won't  come  again. — His  letters, 
indeed  ! — these  are  what  he  wanted.' 

She  held  out  the  roll,  her  brief,  as  it  might  be 
called,  against  the  partner  of  her  affections,  showing 
what  she  had  paid  to  raise  the  man  out  of  the  gutter. 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  24I 

1  Take  them,  look  at  them !  They  are  really  quite 
interesting ! '  He  turned  over  the  odd  collection, 
smelling  now  of  the  boudoir,  but  better  suited  to  Bos's 
shop-front ;  there  were  mortgageable  debts  to  dealers 
in  curiosities,  private  jewellers,  laundresses,  yacht- 
builders,  agents  for  imitation-champagne  from  Tou- 
raine,  receipts  from  stewards  and  club-waiters,  in  short, 
every  device  of  usury  by  which  a  man  about  Paris 
comes  to  bankruptcy.  Mari'  Anto  muttered  under 
her  breath,  •  The  restoration  of  this  gentleman  cost 
more  than  Mousseaux,  you  see  !  .  .  .  I  have  had  all 
these  things  in  a  drawer  for  years,  because  I  never 
destroy  anything ;  but  I  solemnly  declare  that  I  never 
thought  of  using  them.  Now  I  have  changed  my 
mind.  He  is  rich.  I  want  my  money  and  interest. 
If  he  does  not  pay,  I  will  take  proceedings.  Don't 
you  think  I  am  justified  ?  ' 

1  Entirely  justified,'  said  Paul,  stroking  the  point 
of  his  fair  beard,  '  only — was  not  the  Prince  d'Athis 
incapable  of  contracting  when  he  signed  these  bills  ? ' 

'  Yes,  yes,  I  know  .  .  .  Br^tigny  told  me  about 
that  ...  for  as  he  could  get  nothing  through  Lavaux, 
he  wrote  to  Bretigny  to  ask  him  to  arbitrate.  A 
fellow  Academician,  you  know ! '  She  laughed  a 
laugh  of  impartial  scorn  for  the  official  dignities  of 
the  Ambassador  and  the  ex-Minister.  Then  she 
burst  out  indignantly,  '  It  is  true  that  I  need  not 

R 


242  ONE   OF   THE   '  FORTY  ' 

have  paid,  but  I  chose  he  should  be  clean.  I  don't 
want  any  arbitration.  I  paid  and  will  be  paid  back, 
or  else  I  go  into  court,  where  the  name  and  title  of 
our  representative  at  St.  Petersburg  will  be  dragged 
through  the  dirt.  If  I  can  only  degrade  the  wretch, 
I  shall  have  won  the  suit  I  care  about.' 

1 1  can't  understand,'  said  Paul  as  he  put  down 
the  packet  so  as  to  hide  the  awkward  letter  to 
Mamma,  '  I  can't  understand  how  such  proofs  should 
have  been  left  in  your  hands  by  a  man  as  clever ' 

'  As  D'Athis  ? ' 

The  shrug  of  her  shoulders  sufficiently  completed 
the  interjection.  But  the  madness  of  a  woman's 
anger  may  always  lead  to  something,  so  he  drew  her 
on.     '  Yet  he  was  one  of  our  best  diplomatists.' 

'  It  was  I  who  put  him  up  to  it.  He  knows 
nothing  of  the  business  but  what  I  taught  him.' 

She  hid  her  face,  as  for  shame,  in  her  hands, 
checking  her  sobs  and  gasping  with  fury.  '  To  think, 
to  think,  twelve  years  of  my  life  to  a  man  like  that ! 
And  now  he  leaves  me;  he  casts  me  off!  Cast  off 
by  him  !     Cast  off  by  him  ! ' 


It  is  some  hours  later,  and  she  is  still  there.     The 
young  man  is  upon  his  knees  and  is  whispering  ten- 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  243 

derly  :  '  When  you  know  that  I  love  you — when  you 
know  that  I  loved  you  always.  Think,  think  ! '  The 
striking  of  a  clock  is  heard  in  the  far  distance  and 
wakening  sounds  go  by  in  the  growing  light.  She 
flies  in  dismay  from  the  room,  not  caring  so  much  as 
to  take  with  her  the  brief  of  her  intended  revenge. 

Revenge  herself  now  ?  On  whom  ?  and  what  for? 
There  was  an  end  of  her  hatred  now,  for  had  she  not 
her  love  ?  From  this  day  she  was  another  woman, 
such  an  one  as  when  she  is  seen  with  her  lover  or  her 
husband,  supporting  her  unhasty  steps  upon  the 
tender  cradle  of  his  arm,  makes  the  common  people 
say, '  Well,  she  has  got  what  she  wants.'  There  are 
not  so  many  of  them  as  people  think,  particularly  in 
society.  Not  that  the  mistress  of  a  great  house 
could  be  thinking  exclusively  of  her  own  happiness ; 
there  were  guests  going  away  and  other  guests  arriv- 
ing and  settling  in,  a  second  instalment,  more  nume- 
rous and  less  intimate,  the  whole  in  fact  of  the 
Academic  set.  There  were  the  Duke  de  Courson- 
Launay,  the  Prince  and  Princess  de  Fitz-Roy,  the 
De  Circourts,  the  Huchenards,  Saint-Avol  the 
diplomatist,  Moser  and  his  daughter,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Henry  of  the  American  embassy.  It  was  a  hard 
task  to  provide  entertainment  and  occupation  for 
all  these  people  and  to  fuse  such  different  elements. 
No  one  understood  the  business  better  than  she,  but 

R  2 


244  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

just  now  it  was  a  burden  and  a  weariness  to  her. 
She  would  have  liked  to  keep  quiet  and  meditate  on 
her  happiness,  to  think  of  nothing  else  :  and  she  could 
devise  no  other  amusements  for  her  guests  than  the 
invariable  visit  to  the  fish  preserves,  to  Ronsard's 
castle,  and  to  the  Orphanage.  Her  own  pleasure  was 
complete  when  her  hand  touched  Paul's,  as  accident 
brought  them  together  in  the  same  boat  or  the  same 
carriage. 

In  the  course  of  one  such  pompous  expedition  on 
the  river,  the  little  fleet  from  Mousseaux,  sailing  on  a 
shimmering  mirror  of  silken  awnings  and  ducal  pen- 
nons, had  gone  somewhat  further  than  usual.  Paul 
Astier  was  in  the  boat  in  front  of  his  lady's.  He 
was  sitting  in  the  stern  beside  Laniboire,  and  was 
receiving  the  Academician's  confidences.  Having 
been  invited  to  stay  at  Mousseaux  till  his  report  was 
finished,  the  old  fool  fancied  that  he  was  making  good 
progress  towards  the  coveted  succession  ;  and  as 
always  happens  in  such  cases,  he  chose  Paul  as  the 
confidant  of  his  hopes.  After  telling  him  what  he  had 
said  and  what  she  had  answered,  and  one  thing  and 
another,  he  was  just  saying,  '  Now,  young  man,  what 
would  you  do,  if  you  were  me  ? '  when  a  clear  voice  of 
low  pitch  rang  over  the  water  from  the  boat  behind 
them. 

'  Monsieur  Astier!' 


ONE   OF  THE  'FORTY'  245 

1  Yes,  Duchess.' 

1  See  yonder,  among  the  reeds.  It  looks  like 
Vedrine.' 

Vedrine  it  was,  painting  away,  with  his  wife  and 
children  at  his  side,  on  an  old  flat-bottomed  boat 
moored  to  a  willow  branch  alongside  of  a  green  islet, 
where  the  wagtails  were  chirping  themselves  hoarse. 
The  boats  drew  quickly  up  beside  him,  any  novelty 
being  a  break  to  the  everlasting  tedium  of  fashionable 
society :  and  while  the  Duchess  greeted  with  her 
sweetest  smile  Madame  Vedrine,  who  had  once  been 
her  guest  at  Mousseaux,  the  ladies  looked  with  in- 
terest at  the  artist's  strange  home  and  the  beautiful 
children,  born  of  its  light  and  its  love,  as  they  lay  in 
the  shelter  of  their  green  refuge  on  the  clear,  placid 
stream,  which  reflected  the  picture  of  their  happiness. 
After  the  first  greetings,  Vedrine,  palette  in  hand, 
gave  Paul  an  account  of  the  doings  at  Clos  Jallanges, 
which  was  visible  through  the  mists  of  the  river, 
half-way  up  the  hill  side — a  long  low  white  house 
with  an  Italian  roof.  '  My  dear  fellow,  they  have  all 
gone  crazy  there !  The  vacancy  has  turned  their 
heads.  They  spend  their  days  ticking  votes — your 
mother,  Picheral,  and  the  poor  invalid  in  her  wheel- 
chair. She  too  has  caught  the  Academic  fever,  and 
talks  of  moving  to  Paris,  entertaining  and  giving 
parties  to  help  her  brother  on.'    So  Vedrine,  to  escape 


246  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

the  general  madness,  camped  out  all  day  and  worked 
in  the  open  air— children  and  all;  and  pointing  to 
his  old  boat  he  said,  with  a  simple  unresentful  laugh, 
'  My  dahabeeah,  you  see  ;  my  trip  to  the  Nile.' 

All  at  once  the  little  boy,  who  in  the  midst  of  so 
many  people,  so  many  pretty  ladies  and  pretty 
dresses,  had  eyes  for  no  one  but  old  Laniboire, 
addressed  him  in  a  clear  voice,  '  Please,  are  you  the 
gentleman  of  the  Academie  who  is  going  to  be  a 
hundred  ?'  The  philosopher,  occupied  in  showing  off 
his  boating  for  the  benefit  of  the  fair  Antonia,  was 
all  but  knocked  off  his  seat :  and  when  the  peals  of 
laughter  had  somewhat  subsided,  V<fdrine  explained 
that  the  child  was  strangely  interested  in  Jean  Rehu, 
whom  he  did  not  know  and  had  never  seen,  merely 
because  he  was  nearly  a  hundred  years  old.  Every 
day  the  handsome  little  boy  asked  about  the  old  man 
and  inquired  how  he  was.  Child  as  he  was,  he 
admired  such  length  of  days  with  something  of  a 
personal  regard.  If  others  had  lived  to  a  hundred, 
why  not  he  ? 

But  a  sudden  freshening  of  the  breeze  filled  the 
sails  of  the  little  craft,  and  fluttered  all  the  tiny 
pennons  ;  a  mass  of  clouds  was  moving  up  from  over 
Blois,  and  towards  Mousseaux  a  film  of  rain 
dimmed  the  horizon,  while  the  four  lights  on  the 
top   of  the  towers    sparkled   against  the  black  sky. 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  247 

There  was  a  moment  of  hurry  and  confusion.     Then 
the  vessels  went  away  between  the  banks  of  yellow 
sand,  one  behind  the  other  in  the  narrow  channels ; 
while  Vedrine,  pleased  by  the  brightness  of  the  colours 
beneath  the  stormy  sky  and  by  the  striking  figures  of 
the  boatmen,  standing  in  the  bows  and  leaning  hard 
on  their  long  poles,  turned  to  his  wife,  who  was  kneel- 
ing in  the  punt  packing  in  the  children,  the  colour- 
box,  and  the  palette,   and   said,  'Look   over   there, 
mamma.     I  sometimes  say  of  a  friend,  that  we  are  in 
the  same  boat.     Well,  there  you  may  see  what  I  mean. 
As  those  boats  fly  in  line  through  the  wind,  with  the 
darkness  coming  down,  so  are  we  men  and  workers, 
generation  after  generation.     It's  no  use  being  shy  of 
the  fellows  in  your  own  boat  ;  you  know  them,  you 
rub  up  against  them,  you  are  friends  without  wishing 
it  or  even  knowing  it,  all  sailing  on  the  same  tack. 
But  how  the  fellows  in  front  do  loiter  and  get  in  the 
way !  There's  nothing  in  common  between  their  boat 
and  ours.     We  are  too  far  off,  we  cannot  catch  what 
they  say.     We  never  trouble  about  them  except  to  call 
out  "  Go  ahead  ;  get  on,  do! "  Meanwhile  youth  in  the 
boat  behind  is  pushing  us ;  they  would  not  mind  run- 
ning us  down  ;  and  we  shout  to  them  angrily,  "  Easy 
there  !    Where's  the  hurry  ?  "   Well,  as  for  me,'  and  he 
drew  himself  to  his  full  height,  towering  above  the 
line  of  coast  and  river, '  I  belong,  of  course,  to  my  own 


248  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

boat  and  I  am  fond  of  it.  But  the  boat  just  ahead 
and  the  one  coming  up  interest  me  not  less.  I  would 
hail  them,  signal  to  them,  speak  to  them  all.  All  of 
us  alike,  those  before  and  those  behind,  are  threatened 
by  the  same  dangers,  and  every  boat  finds  the  current 
strong,  the  sky  treacherous,  and  the  evening  quick  to 
close  in  .  .  .  Now,  my  dears,  we  must  make  haste ; 
here  comes  the  rain  ! ' 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  249 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

'  Pray  for  the  repose  of  the  soul  of  the  most  noble 
Lord,  the  Duke  Charles  Henri  Francois  Padovani, 
Prince  d'Olmiitz,  formerly  Member  of  the  Senate, 
Ambassador  and  Minister,  Grand  Cross  of  the  Legion 
of  Honour,  who  departed  this  life  September  20, 
1880,  at  his  estate  of  Barbicaglia,  where  his  remains 
have  been  interred.  A  mass  for  the  deceased  will  be 
celebrated  on  Sunday  next  in  the  private  chapel, 
where  you  are  invited  to  attend.' 

This  quaint  summons  was  being  proclaimed  on 
both  banks  of  the  Loire,  between  Mousseaux  and 
Onzain,  by  mourners  hired  from  Vafflard's,  wearing 
tall  hats  with  crape  mufflers  that  reached  the  ground, 
and  ringing  their  heavy  bells  as  they  walked.  Paul 
Astier,  hearing  the  words  as  he  came  downstairs  to 
the  midday  breakfast,  felt  his  heart  beat  high  with 
joy  and  pride.  Four  days  ago  the  news  of  the  Duke's 
death  had  startled  Mousseaux  as  the  report  of  a  gun 
startles  a  covey  of  partridges,  and  had  unexpectedly 
dispersed  and  scattered  the  second  instalment  of 
guests  to  various  seaside  and  holiday  resorts.     The 


250  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

Duchess  had  had  to  set  off  at  once  for  Corsica, 
leaving  at  the  castle  only  a  few  very  intimate  friends. 
The  melancholy  sound  of  the  voices  and  moving 
bells,  carried  to  Paul's  ear  by  a  breeze  from  the  river 
through  the  open  panes  of  the  staircase  window,  the 
antiquated  and  princely  form  of  the  funeral  invitation, 
could  not  but  invest  the  domain  of  Mousseaux  with 
an  impressive  air  of  grandeur,  which  added  to  the 
height  of  its  four  towers  and  its  immemorial  trees. 
And  as  all  this  was  to  be  his  (for  the  Duchess  on 
leaving  had  begged  him  to  stay  at  the  castle,  as  there 
were  important  decisions  to  be  taken  on  her  return), 
the  proclamation  of  death  sounded  in  his  ears  like 
the  announcement  of  his  approaching  installation. 
'  Pray  for  the  repose  of  the  soul,'  said  the  voices.  At 
last  he  really  had  fortune  within  his  grasp,  and  this 
time  it  should  not  be  taken  from  him.  '  Member  of 
the  Senate,  Ambassador  and  Minister,'  said  the  voices 
again. 

'  Those  bells  are  depressing,  are  they  not,  Monsieur 
Paul  ? '  said  Mdlle.  Moser  who  was  sitting  at  breakfast 
between  her  father  and  the  Academician  Laniboire. 
The  Duchess  had  kept  these  guests  at  Mousseaux, 
partly  to  amuse  Paul's  solitude  and  partly  to  give  a 
little  more  rest  and  fresh  air  to  the  poor  '  Antigone,' 
kept  in  bondage  by  the  interminable  candidature  of 
her  father.     There  was  certainly    no   fear   that   the 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  25 1 

Duchess  would  find  a  rival  in  this  woman,  who  had 
eyes  like  a  beaten  hound,  hair  without  colour,  and  no 
other  thought  but  her  humiliating  petition  for  the 
unattainable  place  in  the  Academic.  But  on  this 
particular  morning  she  had  taken  more  pains  than 
usual  with  her  appearance,  and  wore  a  bright  dress 
open  at  the  neck.  The  poor  neck  was  very  thin  and 
lean,  but— there  was  no  higher  game.  So  Laniboire, 
in  high  spirits,  was  teasing  her  with  a  gay  freedom. 
No,  he  did  not  think  the  death-bells  at  all  depressing, 
nor  the  repetition  of  '  Pray  for  the  repose,'  as  it  died 
away  in  the  distance.  No,  life  seemed  to  him  by 
contrast  more  enjoyable  than  usual,  the  Vouvray 
sparkled  more  brightly  in  the  decanters,  and  his  good 
stories  had  a  telling  echo  in  the  huge  half-empty 
dining-room.  The  sodden  subservient  face  of  Moser 
the  candidate  wore  a  fawning  smile,  though  he  wished 
his  daughter  away.  But  the  philosopher  was  a  man 
of  great  influence  in  the  Academic 

After  coffee  had  been  served  on  the  terrace, 
Laniboire,  with  his  face  coloured  like  a  Redskin, 
called  out,  '  Now  let's  go  and  work,  Mdlle.  Moser  ;  I 
feel  quite  in  the  humour.  I  believe  I  shall  finish  my 
report  to-day.'  The  gentle  little  lady,  who  some- 
times acted  as  his  secretary,  rose  with  some  regret. 
On  a  delicious  day  like  this,  hazy  with  the  first  mists 
of  autumn,  a  good  walk,  or  perhaps  a  continuation  on 


252  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

the  gallery  of  her  talk  with  the  charming  and  well- 
mannered  M.  Paul,  would  have  pleased  her  better 
than  writing  at  old  M.  Laniboire's  dictation  com- 
mendations of  devoted  hospital-nurses  or  exemplary 
attendants.  But  her  father  urged  her  to  go,  as  the 
great  man  wanted  her.  She  obeyed  and  went 
upstairs  behind  Laniboire,  followed  by  old  Moser, 
who  was  going  to  have  his  afternoon  nap. 

Laniboire  may  have  had  Pascal's  nose,  but  he 
had  not  his  manners.  When  Paul  came  back  from 
cooling  his  ambitious  hopes  by  a  long  walk  in  the 
woods,  he  found  the  break  waiting  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps  in  the  great  court.  The  two  fine  horses  were 
pawing  the  ground,  and  Mdlle.  Moser  was  inside, 
surrounded  by  boxes  and  bags,  while  Moser,  looking 
bewildered,  stood  on  the  doorstep,  feeling  in  his 
pockets  and  bestowing  coins  on  two  or  three  sneering 
footmen.  Paul  went  up  to  the  carriage,  '  So  you  are 
leaving  us,  Mademoiselle.'  She  gave  him  a  thin 
clammy  hand,  on  which  she  had  forgotten  to  put  a 
glove,  and  without  saying  a  word,  or  removing  the 
handkerchief  with  which  she  was  wiping  her  eyes 
under  her  veil,  she  bent  her  head  in  sign  of  good-bye. 
He  learnt  little  more  from  old  Moser,  who  stam- 
mered out  in  a  low  voice,  as  he  stood  vexed  and 
gloomy,  with  one  foot  on  the  step  of  the  carriage 
'  It's  her  doing :  she  will  go.     He  was  rude  to  her 


ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY'  253 

she  says,  but  I  can't  believe  it.'  Then  with  a  pro- 
found sigh,  and  knitting  the  wrinkle  in  his  brow,  the 
deep,  red,  scar-like  wrinkle  of  the  Academic  candi- 
date, he  added, '  It's  a  very  bad  thing  for  my  election.' 

Laniboire  stayed  all  the  afternoon  in  his  room, 
and  at  dinner,  as  he  took  his  seat  opposite  Paul,  he 
said,  '  Do  you  know  why  our  friends  the  Mosers  went 
off  so  suddenly  ? ' 

1  No,  sir,  do  you  ?  ' 

'  It's  very  strange,  very  strange.' 

He  assumed  an  air  of  great  composure  for  the 
benefit  of  the  servants,  but  it  was  obvious  that  he 
was  disturbed,  worried,  and  in  desperate  fear  of  a 
scandal.  Gradually  he  regained  his  serenity  and 
satisfaction,  not  being  able  to  think  ill  of  life  at 
dinner,  and  ended  by  admitting  to  his  young  friend 
that  he  had  perhaps  been  a  little  too  attentive. 
'  But  it  is  her  father's  fault ;  he  pesters  me  ;  and  even 
an  awarder  of  good-conduct  prizes  has  his  feelings, 
eh?'  He  lifted  his  glass  of  liqueur  with  a  trium- 
phant flourish,  cut  short  by  Paul's  remark,  '  What 
will  the  Duchess  say  ?  Of  course  Mdlle.  Moser 
must  have  written  to  her  to  explain  why  she  left.' 

Laniboire  turned  pale.  'Really,  do  you  think 
she  did?' 

Paul  pressed  the  point,  in  the  hopes  of  ridding 
himself  of  such  a  far  from  gay  gallant.     If  the  lady 


254  ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY' 

had  not  written,  there  was  the  chance  that  a  servant 
might  say  something.  Then,  wrinkling  his  deceitful 
little  nose,  he  said,  '  If  I  were  you,  my  dear  sir ' 

1  Pooh,  pooh  !  Nonsense  !  I  may  get  a  scolding, 
but  it  won't  really  do  me  any  harm.' 

But  in  spite  of  his  assumed  confidence,  the  day 
before  the  Duchess  returned,  upon  the  pretext  that 
the  election  to  the  Academie  was  coming  on,  and 
that  the  damp  evenings  were  bad  for  his  rheumatism, 
he  went  off,  taking  in  his  portmanteau  his  completed 
report  on  the  prizes  for  good-conduct. 

The  Duchess  arrived  for  Sunday's  mass,  celebrated 
with  great  magnificence  in  the  Renaissance  chapel, 
where  Vedrine's  versatility  had  restored  both  the  fine 
stained  glass  and  the  wonderful  carving  of  the  rere- 
dos.  A  huge  crowd  from  the  villages  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood filled  the  chapel  to  overflowing,  and 
gathered  in  the  great  court.  Everywhere  were  awk- 
ward fellows  in  hideous  black  coats,  and  long  blue 
blouses  shining  from  the  iron,  everywhere  white  caps 
and  kerchiefs  stiff  with  starch  round  sunburnt  necks. 
All  these  people  were  brought  together  not  by  the 
religious  ceremony,  nor  by  the  honours  paid  to  the 
old  Duke,  who  was  unknown  in  the  district,  but  by 
the  open-air  feast  which  was  *o  follow  the  mass. 
The  long  tables  and  benches  were  arranged  on  both 
sides  of  the  long  lordly  avenue  ;  and  here,  after  the 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY'  255 

service,  between  two  and  three  thousand  peasants 
had  no  difficulty  in  finding  room.  At  fir^t  there  was 
some  constraint ;  the  guests,  overawed  by  the  troop 
of  servants  in  mourning  and  the  rangers  with  crape 
on  their  caps,  spoke  in  whispers  under  the  shadow  ot 
the  majestic  elms.  But  as  they  warmed  with  the 
wine  and  the  victuals,  the  funeral  feast  grew  more 
lively,  and  ended  in  a  vast  merrymaking. 

To  escape  this  unpleasant  carnival,  the  Duchess 
and  Paul  went  for  a  drive,  sweeping  rapidly  in  an 
open  carriage  draped  with  black  along  the  roads  and 
fields,  abandoned  to  the  desertion  of  Sunday.  The 
mourning  cockades  of  the  tall  footmen  and  the  long 
veil  of  the  widow  opposite  reminded  the  young 
man  of  other  similar  drives.  He  thought  to  himself, 
'  My  destiny  seems  to  lie  in  the  way  of  dead  hus- 
bands.' He  felt  a  touch  of  regret  at  the  thought 
of  Colette  de  Rosen's  little  curly  head,  contrasting  so 
brightly  with  the  black  mass  of  her  surroundings. 
The  Duchess  however,  tired  as  she  was  by  her 
journey,  and  looking  stouter  than  usual  in  her  impro- 
vised mourning,  had  a  magnificence  of  manner  entirely 
wanting  in  Colette,  and  besides,  her  dead  husband 
did  not  embarrass  her,  for  she  was  much  too  frank  to 
feign  a  grief  which  ordinary  women  think  necessary 
under  such  circumstances,  even  when  the  deceased 
has   been   cordially  detested   and   completely  aban- 


256  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

doned.  The  road  rang  under  the  horses'  hoofs,  as  it 
unrolled  before  them,  climbing  or  descending  gentle 
slopes,  bordered  now  by  little  oak  plantations,  now 
by  huge  plains  which,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
isolated  mills,  were  swept  by  circling  flights  of  crows. 
A  pale  sunlight  gleamed  through  rare  gaps  in  a  sky 
soft,  rainy,  and  low  :  and  to  protect  them  from  the  wind 
as  they  drove,  the  same  wrap  enveloped  them  both,  so 
that  their  knees  were  closely  pressed  together  under 
the  furs.  The  Duchess  was  talking  of  her  native 
Corsica,  and  of  a  wonderful  vocero  which  had  been 
improvised  at  the  funeral  by  her  maid. 

'  Matea  ? ' 

'  Yes,  Matea.  She's  quite  a  poet,  fancy ' — and  the 
Duchess  quoted  some  of  the  lines  of  the  voceratrice, 
in  the  spirited  Corsican  dialect,  admirably  suited  to 
her  contralto  voice.  But  to  the  '  important  decision ' 
she  did  not  refer. 

But  it  was  the  important  decision  that  interested 
Paul  Astier,  and  not  the  verses  of  the  lady's-maid. 
No  doubt  it  would  be  discussed  that  evening.  To 
pass  the  time,  he  told  her,  in  a  low  tone,  how  he  had 
got  rid  of  Laniboire.  '  Poor  little  Moser,'  said  the 
Duchess,  •  her  father  really  must  be  elected  this  time.' 
After  that  they  spoke  but  a  word  now  and  then. 
They  only  drew  together,  lulled,  as  it  were,  by  the 
gentle  movement  of  the  carriage,  while  the  daylight 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY'  257 

left  the  darkening  fields,  and  let  them  see  over 
towards  the  furnaces  sudden  flashes  of  flame  and 
flickering  gleams  like  lightning  against  the  sky. 
Unfortunately  the  drive  home  was  spoilt  by  the 
drunken  cries  and  songs  of  the  crowds  returning  from 
the  feast.  The  peasants  got  among  the  wheels  of 
the  carriage  like  cattle,  and  from  the  ditches  on 
either  side  of  the  road,  into  which  they  rolled,  came 
snores  and  grunts,  their  peculiar  fashion  of  praying 
for  the  repose  of  the  soul  of  the  most  noble  Lord 
Duke. 

They  walked,  as  usual,  on  the  gallery,  and  the 
Duchess,  leaning  against  Paul's  shoulder  to  look  out 
at  the  darkness  between  the  massive  pillars  which  cut 
the  dim  line  of  the  horizon,  murmured,  '  This  is 
happiness  !  Together,  and  alone  ! '  Still  not  a  word 
on  the  subject  which  Paul  was  waiting  for.  He  tried 
to  bring  her  to  it,  and  with  his  lips  in  her  hair  asked 
what  she  was  going  to  do  in  the  winter.  Should  she 
go  back  to  Paris  ?  Oh,  no  !  certainly  not.  She  was 
sick  of  Paris  and  its  false  society,  its  disguises  and  its 
treachery !  She  was  still  undecided,  however,  whether 
to  shut  herself  up  at  Mousseaux,  or  to  set  out  on  a 
long  journey  to  Syria  and  Palestine.  What  did  he 
think  ?  Why,  this  must  be  the  important  decision 
they  were  to  consider !  It  had  been  a  mere  pretext 
to  keep  him  there !     She  had  been  afraid  that  if  he 


258  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

went  back  to  Paris,  and  away  from  her,  some  one  else 
would  carry  him  off !  Paul,  thinking  that  he  had  been 
taken  in,  bit  his  lips  as  he  said  to  himself,  'Oh,  if 
that's  your  game,  my  lady,  we'll  see  ! '  Tired  by  her 
journey  and  a  long  day  in  the  open  air,  the  Duchess 
bid  him  good-night  and  went  wearily  up  to  her 
room. 

The  next  day  they  hardly  met.  The  Duchess 
was  busy  settling  accounts  with  her  steward  and  her 
tenants,  much  to  the  admiration  of  Maitre  Gobineau, 
the  notary,  who  observed  to  Paul  as  they  sat  at 
breakfast,  with  slyness  marked  in  every  wrinkle  of 
his  shrivelled  old  face,  '  Ah,  it's  not  easy  to  get  on 
the  blind  side  of  the  Duchess  ! ' 

'  Little  he  knows,'  was  the  thought  of  the 
Duchess's  young  pursuer  as  he  played  with  his  light 
brown  beard.  But  when  he  heard  the  hard  cold 
tones  which  his  lady's  tender  contralto  could  assume 
in  a  business  discussion,  he  felt  that  he  would  have  to 
play  his  cards  carefully. 

After  breakfast  there  arrived  some  trunks  from 
Paris  with  Spricht's  forewoman  and  two  fitters.  And 
at  last,  about  four  o'clock,  the  Duchess  appeared  in  a 
marvellous  costume,  which  made  her  look  quite  young 
and  slim,  and  proposed  a  walk  in  the  park.  They 
went  along  briskly,  side  by  side,  keeping  to  the  bye- 
paths  to  avoid  the  noise  of  the  heavy  rakes.     Three 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  259 

times  a  day  the  gardeners  struggled  against  the  ac- 
cumulation of  the  falling  leaves.  But  in  vain  ;  in  an 
hour  the  walks  were  again  covered  by  the  same 
Oriental  carpet,  richly  coloured  with  purple,  green, 
and  bronze ;  and  their  feet  rustled  in  it  as  they 
walked  under  the  soft  level  rays  of  the  sun.  The 
Duchess  spoke  of  the  husband  who  had  brought  so 
much  sorrow  into  her  youth  ;  she  was  anxious  to 
make  Paul  feel  that  her  mourning  was  entirely  con- 
ventional and  did  not  affect  her  feelings.  Paul  under- 
stood her  object,  and  smiled  coldly,  determined  to 
carry  out  his  plan. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  park  they  sat  down,  near 
a  little  building  hidden  behind  maples  and  privet, 
where  the  fishing  nets  and  oars  of  the  boats  were 
kept.  From  their  seat  they  looked  across  the  sloping 
lawns  and  the  plantations  and  shrubberies  showing 
patches  of  gold.  The  castle,  seen  in  the  background, 
with  its  long  array  of  closed  windows  and  deserted 
terraces,  lifting  its  towers  and  turrets  proudly  to  the 
sky,s  eemed  withdrawn,  as  it  were,  into  the  past,  and 
grander  than  ever. 

'  I  am  sorry  to  leave  all  that,'  said  Paul,  with  a 
sigh.  She  looked  at  him  in  amazement  with  storm 
in  her  knitted  brows.  Go  away  ?  Did  he  mean  to 
go  away  ?     Why  ? 

1  No  help.     Such  is  life.' 

S  2 


260  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

'  Are  we  to  part  ?  And  what  is  to  become  of  me? 
and  the  journey  we  were  to  make  together  ? ' 

'  I  could  not  interrupt  you '  he  said.     But  how 

could  a  poor  artist  like  him  afford  himself  a  journey  to 
Palestine  ?  It  was  an  impossible  dream,  like  V^drine's 
dahabeeah  ending  in  a  punt  on  the  Loire. 

She  shrugged  her  aristocratic  shoulders,  and  said, 
'Why,  Paul,  what  nonsense!  You  know  that  all  I 
have  is  yours.' 

'  Mine  ?     By  what  right  ? ' 

It  was  out !  But  she  did  not  see  yet  what  he  was 
driving  at.  Fearing  that  he  had  gone  too  far,  he 
added,  '  I  mean,  what  right,  in  the  prejudiced  view  of 
society,  shall  I  have  to  travel  with  you  ? ' 

•  Well  then,  we  will  stay  at  Mousseaux.' 

He  made  her  a  little  mocking  bow  as  he  said, 
1  Your  architect  has  finished  his  work  on  the  castle.' 

'  Oh,  we  will  find  him  something  to  do,  if  I  have 
to  set  fire  to  it  to-night ! ' 

She  laughed  her  open-hearted  tender  laugh,  leant 
against  him,  and  taking  his  hands  pressed  them 
against  her  cheeks— fond  trifling  this,  not  the  word 
which  he  was  waiting  for,  and  trying  to  make  her  say. 
Then  he  burst  out,  '  If  you  love  me,  Antonia,  let  me 
go.  I  must  make  a  living  for  myself  and  mine. 
Society  would  not  forgive  my  living  on  the  bounty  of 
a  woman  who  is  not  and  never  will  be  my  wife.' 


ONE  OF  THE  *  FORTY'  26l 

She  understood,  and  closed  her  eyes  as  if  on  the 
brink  of  an  abyss.  In  the  long  silence  that  followed 
was  heard  all  over  the  park  the  falling  of  the  leaves 
in  the  breeze,  some  still  heavy  with  sap,  dropping  in 
bunches  from  bough  to  bough,  others  stealing  down 
with  a  scarcely  audible  sound,  like  the  rustling  of  a 
dress.  Round  the  little  hut,  under  the  maples,  it  was 
more  like  the  pattering  footsteps  of  some  voiceless 
crowd  which  moved  around.  She  rose  with  a  shiver. 
'  It  is  cold  ;  let  us  go  in.'  She  had  made  her  sacrifice. 
It  would  kill  her,  very  probably,  but  the  world  should 
not  see  the  degradation  of  the  Duchess  Padovani  into 
Madame  Paul  Astier,  who  had  married  her  architect. 

Paul  spent  the  evening  in  making  the  obvious 
arrangements  for  his  departure.  He  gave  orders 
about  his  luggage,  bestowed  princely  gratuities  upon 
the  servants,  and  inquired  about  the  time  of  the 
trains,  chatting  away  without  constraint,  but  quite 
unsuccessful  in  breaking  through  the  gloomy  silence 
of  the  fair  Antonia,  who  read  with  absorbed  attention 
a  magazine,  of  which  she  did  not  turn  the  pages.  But 
when  he  took  his  leave  of  her  and  thanked  her  for 
her  prolonged  and  gracious  hospitality,  in  the  light 
of  the  huge  lace  lamp-shade  he  saw  on  her  haughty 
face  a  look  of  anguish,  and  in  her  eyes,  magnificent 
as  those  of  a  dying  lion,  a  beseeching  supplication. 

When  he  reached  his  room  the  young  man  looked 


262  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

to  see  that  the  door  to  the  smoking-room  was  bolted  ; 
then  he  put  out  hi;  light  and  waited,  sitting  quite 
still  on  the  divan  close  to  the  communication.  If  she 
did  not  come,  he  had  made  a  mistake  and  must  begin 
again.  But  there  was  a  slight  noise  in  the  private 
passage,  the  sound  of  a  gown,  then  after  a  momentary 
surprise  at  not  being  able  to  come  straight  in,  a  touch 
with  the  tip  of  a  finger,  scarcely  a  knock.  He 
did  not  move,  and  paid  no  attention  to  a  little  sig- 
nificant coughing.  Then  he  heard  her  go  away,  with 
an  agitated,  uneven  step. 

'  Now,'  thought  he,  *  she  is  mine.  I  can  do  what 
I  like  with  her.'     And  he  went  quietly  to  bed. 

'If  I  were  called  the  Prince  d'Athis,  would  you 
not  have  married  me  when  your  mourning  was  over  ? 
Yet  D'Athis  did  not  love  you,  and  Paul  Astier  does. 
Proud  of  his  love,  he  would  gladly  have  proclaimed 
it  abroad  instead  of  hiding  it  as  a  thing  to  be  ashamed 
of.  Ah,  Mari'  Anto  !  I  have  awaked  from  a  beau- 
tiful dream  !     Farewell  for  ever.' 

She  read  his  letter  with  her  eyes  hardly  open, 
swollen  with  the  tears  she  had  been  shedding  all 
night.  '  Is  Monsieur  Astier  gone  ?  '  The  maid  who 
was  leaning  out  of  the  window  to  fasten  back  the 
shutters  that  moment  caught  sight  of  the  carriage 
that  was  taking  away  M.  Paul,  right  at  the  end  of 


ONE  OF   THE   '  FORTY  '  263 

the  avenue,  too  far  off  to  be  called  back.  The 
Duchess  sprang  out  of  bed  and  flew  to  the  clock. 
'  Nine  o'clock.'  The  express  did  not  reach  Onzain 
till  ten.  '  Quick,  a  messenger — Bertoli,  and  the  best 
of  the  horses  ! '  By  taking  the  short  cut  through  the 
woods  he  could  reach  the  station  before  the  carriage. 
Whilst  her  orders  were  being  hastily  carried  out  she 
wrote  a  note,  standing,  without  waiting  to  dress. 
1  Come  back  ;  all  shall  be  as  you  wish.'  No,  that  was 
too  cold.  That  would  not  bring  him  back.  She 
tore  up  the  note,  wrote  another,  '  What  you  will,  so 
long  as  I  am  yours,'  and  signed  it  with  her  title. 
Then,  wild  at  the  thought  that  perhaps  even  that 
would  not  bring  him,  she  cried,  '  I'll  go  myself !  My 
habit,  quick  ! '  And  she  called  out  of  the  window  to 
Bertoli,  whose  horse  was  by  this  time  waiting  im- 
patiently at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  and  gave  orders  to 
saddle  '  Mademoiselle  Oger  '  for  herself. 

She  had  not  ridden  for  five  years.  Her  figure 
had  grown  stouter,  the  stitches  of  the  habit  gave  way, 
some  of  the  hooks  were  missing.  '  Never  mind, 
Matea,  never  mind.'  She  went  down  the  staircase 
with  the  train  over  her  arm,  between  the  footmen 
who  stood  with  blank  looks  of  astonishment,  and  set 
off  full  speed  down  the  avenue,  through  the  gate,  into 
the  road,  into  the  wood,  and  down  the  cool  green 
paths   and   long  avenues,  wliere  the  wild   creatures 


264  ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY* 

fluttered  and  leapt  away  as  she  galloped  madly  by. 
She  must  and  will  have  him.  He  is  her  death  and 
life.  She  has  tasted  love  ;  and  what  else  does  the 
world  contain  ?  Leaning  forward,  she  listens  for  the 
sound  of  the  train  and  watches  in  every  distant  view 
for  the  steam  skirting  the  horizon.  If  only  she  is  in 
time  !  Poor  thing  !  She  might  let  her  horse  walk, 
and  yet  she  would  overtake  that  handsome  runaway 
He  is  her  evil  genius,  and  he  is  not  to  be  escaped. 


ONE  6F  THE  'FORTY'  265 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

From  the  Vicomte  de  Freydet 

To  Mademoiselle  Germaine  de  Freydet 
Villa  Beausejour, 

Paris-Passy. 

Cafe  d'Orsay  :  1 1  A.M.  at  breakfast. 

EVERY  two  hours,  and  oftener  if  I  can,  I  shall  send 
you  off  an  interim  despatch  like  this,  as  much  to  re- 
lieve your  anxiety,  dearest,  as  for  the  pleasure  of  being 
with  you  throughout  this  great  day,  which  I  hope  will 
end  with  the  news  of  victory,  in  spite  of  defections  at 
the  last  moment.  Picheral  told  me  just  now  of  a  say- 
ing of  Laniboire's, '  When  a  man  enters  the  Academie 
he  wears  a  sword,  but  he  does  not  draw  it,'  an  allu- 
sion, of  course,  to  the  Astier  duel.  It  was  not  I  who 
fought,  but  the  creature  cares  more  for  his  jest  than 
for  his  promise.  Cannot  count  on  Danjou,  either. 
After  having  said  so  often  to  me,  "  You  must  join 
us,'  this  morning  in  the  secretary's  office  he  came  up 
to  me  and  whispered,  '  You  should  let  us  miss  you,' 
perhaps  the  best  epigram  on  his  list.     Never  mind, 


266  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

I'm  well  ahead.  My  rivals  are  not  formidable 
Fancy  Baron  Huchenard,  the  author  of  '  Cave  Man,' 
in  the  Academie  Franchise  !  Why,  Paris  would  rise  ! 
As  for  M.  Dalzon,  I  can't  think  how  he  has  the  face. 
I  have  got  a  copy  of  his  too  notorious  book.  I  do 
not  like  to  use  it,  but  he  had  better  be  careful. 

2  P.M. 

At  the  Institute,  in  my  good  master's  rooms, 
where  I  shall  await  the  result  of  the  voting.  Perhaps 
it  is  pure  imagination,  but  I  fancy  that  my  arrival, 
though  they  expected  me,  has  put  them  out  here  a 
little.  Our  friends  were  finishing  breakfast.  There 
was  a  bustle  and  banging  of  doors,  and  Corentine, 
instead  of  showing  me  into  the  drawing-room, 
hustled  me  into  the  library,  where  my  old  master 
joined  me  with  an  embarrassed  air,  and  in  a  low 
voice  advised  me  to  keep  extremely  quiet.  He  was 
quite  depressed.  I  asked  if  he  had  any  bad  news. 
He  said  first,  '  No,  no,  my  dear  boy,'  and  then, 
grasping  my  hand,  '  Come,  cheer  up.'  For  some 
time  past  the  poor  man  has  been  much  altered.  He 
is  evidently  ready  to  overflow  with  vexation  and 
sorrow  that  he  will  not  express.  Probably  some 
deep  private  trouble,  quite  unconnected  with  my 
candidature  ;  but  I  am  so  nervous. 

More   than   an   hour   to   wait.      I    am   amusing 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY*  267 

myself  by  looking  across  the  court  through  the  great 
bay  window  of  the  meeting-room  at  the  long  rows  of 
busts.     The  Academicians  !     Is  it  an  omen  ? 

2.45  P.M. 

I  have  just  seen  all  my  judges  go  by,  thirty- 
seven  of  them,  if  I  counted  right.  The  full  number 
of  the  Academie,  since  Epinchard  is  at  Nice,  Ripault- 
Babin  in  bed,  and  Loisillon  in  the  grave.  It  was 
glorious  to  see  all  the  distinguished  men  come 
into  the  court  ;  the  younger  walking  slowly  with 
serious  looks  and  head  bent  as  if  under  the  weight 
of  a  responsibility  too  heavy  for  them,  the  old  men 
carrying  themselves  well  and  stepping  out  briskly. 
A  few  gouty  and  rheumatic,  like  Courson-Launay, 
drove  up  to  the  foot  of  the  steps  and  leant  on  the 
arm  of  a  colleague.  They  stood  about  before  going 
up,  talking  in  little  knots,  and  I  watched  the  move- 
ments of  their  backs  and  shoulders  and  the  play  of 
their  open  hands.  What  would  I  not  give  to  hear  the 
last  discussion  of  my  prospects  !  I  opened  the  window 
gently,  but  just  then  a  carriage  covered  with  luggage 
came  clattering  into  the  court,  and  out  got  a  traveller 
wrapped  in  furs  and  wearing  an  otter-skin  cap.  It 
was  Epinchard  ;  just  think,  dear,  Epinchard  arriving 
from  Nice  on  purpose  to  vote  for  me.  Good  fellow  ! 
Then  my  old  master  went  by,  his  broad-brimmed  hat 


268  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY* 

down  over  his  eyes  ;  he  was  turning  over  the  copy  of 
'  Without  the  Veil/  which  I  gave  him,  to  be  used  if 
necessary.     Well,  self-defence  is  always  legitimate. 

Now  there's  nothing  to  see  but  two  carriages 
waiting  and  the  bust  of  Minerva  keeping  guard. 
Goddess,  protect  me  !  They  must  be  beginning  the 
calling  of  names,  and  the  interrogatory.  Each 
Academician  has  to  state  to  the  President  that  his 
vote  is  not  promised.  It's  a  mere  formality,  as  you 
may  suppose,  and  they  all  reply  by  a  smile  of  denial 
or  a  little  shake  of  the  head  like  a  Chinese  mandarin. 

A  most  amazing  thing  has  just  happened  !  I  had 
given  my  letter  to  Corentine  and  was  getting  a 
breath  of  fresh  air  at  the  window  and  trying  to  read 
the  secret  of  my  fate  in  the  gloomy  front  of  the  build- 
ing opposite,  when  at  the  next  window  to  mine  I 
caught  sight  of  Huchenard,  airing  himself  too,  quite 
close  to  me.  Huchenard,  my  rival— Astier-Rehu's 
worst  enemy,  installed  in  his  study !  We  were  both 
equally  amazed,  bowed,  and  withdrew  at  the  same 
moment.  But  there  he  is,  I  can  hear  him,  I  feel  that 
he  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  partition.  No  doubt, 
like  me,  he  is  waiting  to  hear  the  decision  of  the 
Academie,  only  he  has  all  the  space  of  '  Villemain's 
reception-room,'  while  I  am  suffocating  in  this  hole 
crammed  full  of  papers !     Now  I  understand  the  con- 


ONE   OF   THE  'FORTY' 


269 


fusion  caused  by  my  arrival.  But  what  is  it  all 
about  ?  What  is  going  on  ?  My  dear  Germaine,  my 
head  is  going  !     Which  of  us  is  the  fool  ? 


Lost !     And  by  treachery,  by  some  mean   Aca- 
demic intrigue  which  I  do  not  yet  understand ! 


First  Counting. 

Baron  Huchenard       .        .        . 

• 

17  votes. 

Dalzon 

• 

15     ». 

Vicomte  de  Freydet    .        .        . 

• 

5     » 

Moser 

« 

1  vote. 

Second  Counting. 

Baron  Huchenard 

• 

19  votes. 

Dalzon                                  .        . 

»                 • 

15     » 

Vicomte  de  Freydet    .         .        . 

• 

3     » 

Moser 

>                 • 

1  vote. 

Third  Counting. 

Baron  Huchenard 

• 

33  votes. 

Dalzon        .                 .        • 

• 

4     » 

Vicomte  de  Freydet    .        • 

»                 • 

0     „     (T!) 

Moser                                   . 

»                 • 

1  vote. 

It  is  clear  that  between  the  second  and  third 
taking  of  votes  the  copy  of  '  Without  the  Veil '  must 
have  been  sent  round  in  the  interest  of  Baron 
Huchenard.  An  explanation  I  must  and  will  have. 
I  won't  leave  the  place  till  I  get  it. 


270  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

4  P.M. 
Dearest  sister,  you  may  guess  my  feelings  when, 
after  I  had  heard  in  the  next  room  M.  and  Madame 
Astier,  old  Rehu,  and  a  stream  of  visitors  congratu- 
lating the  author  of  'Cave  Man,'  the  door  of  the 
library  opened  and  my  old  master  came  in,  reaching 
out  his  hands  and  saying,  '  My  dear  boy,  forgive 
me' — between  heat  and  emotion  he  was  nearly 
speechless — 'forgive  me,  that  man  had  a  hold  over 
me.  I  had  to  do  it,  I  had  to  do  it.  I  thought  I 
could  avert  the  disaster  which  threatens  me,  but 
destiny  is  not  to  be  escaped,  no,  not  even  by  a  base 
act.'  He  held  out  his  arms  and  I  embraced  him 
without  the  least  anger,  without  indeed  quite  under- 
standing the  mystery  of  this  bitter  grief. 

After  all,  my  own  loss  is  easily  retrieved.  I  have 
first-rate  news  of  Ripault-Babin.  He  can  hardly  live 
through  the  week.  One  more  campaign,  dear,  one  more. 
Unfortunately  the  Hotel  Padovani  will  be  closed  all 
the  winter,  owing  to  the  Duchess's  deep  mourning. 
So  for  our  scene  of  operations  we  shall  have  the  '  at 
home'  days  of  Madame  Astier,  Madame  Ancelin, 
and  Madame  Eviza,  of  whose  fashion  there  is  no 
question  since  the  visit  of  the  Grand  Duke.  But  the 
first  thing,  dear  Germaine,  will  be  to  move.  Passy  is 
too  far  off;  the  Acad^mie  will  not  go  there.  You 
will  say  I  am  dragging  you  about  again,  but  it  is  so 


ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY'  27 1 

important.  Just  look  at  Huchenard.  He  had  no 
claim  whatever  but  his  parties.  I  dine  with  my 
dear  master  ;  don't  wait  for  me. 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

Abel  de  Freydet. 

Moser's  solitary  vote  in  each  counting  was  given 
by  Laniboire,  the  man  who  reports  for  the  good  con- 
duct prizes.  They  tell  a  queer  story  about  it.  There 
are  strange  things  under  the  dome  ! 


272  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY1 


CHAPTER  XV. 

1  It's  a  scandal.' 

'  There  must  be  a  reply.  The  Academie  cannot 
be  silent  under  the  attack.' 

'What  are  you  thinking  of?  On  the  contrary, 
the  dignity  of  the  Academie  demands ' 

'  Gentlemen,  gentlemen,  the  real  feeling  of  the 
Academie  is ' 

In  their  private  assembly  room,  in  front  of  the 
great  chimney-piece  and  the  full-length  portrait  of 
Cardinal  Richelieu,  the  'deities  '  were  engaged  in  a  dis- 
cussion preliminary  to  the  meeting.  The  cold  smoke- 
stained  light  of  a  Parisian  winter's  day,  falling  through 
the  great  lantern  overhead,  gave  effect  to  the  chill 
solemnity  of  the  marble  busts  ranged  in  row  along 
the  walls  ;  and  the  huge  fire  in  the  chimney,  nearly 
as  red  as  the  Cardinal's  robe,  was  not  enough  to  warm 
the  little  council-chamber  or  court-house,  furnished 
with  green  leather  seats,  long  horse-shoe  table  in  front 
of  the  desk,  and  chain-bedecked  usher,  keeping  the 
entrance  near  the  place  of  Picheral,  the  Secretary. 

Generally   the   best   part   of  the    meeting  is  the 


ONE  OF  THE  '  FORTY  '  273 

quarter  of  an  hour's  grace  allowed  to  late-comers. 
The  Academicians  gather  in  groups  with  their  backs 
to  the  fire  and  their  coat  tails  turned  up,  chatting 
familiarly  in  undertones.  But  on  this  afternoon  the 
conversation  was  general  and  had  risen  to  the  utmost 
violence  of  public  debate,  each  new  comer  joining  in 
from  the  far  end  of  the  room,  while  he  signed  the 
attendance  list.  Some  even  before  entering,  while 
they  were  still  depositing  their  great  coats,  comforters, 
and  overshoes  in  the  empty  room  of  the  Academie  des 
Sciences,  opened  the  door  to  join  in  the  cries  of 
'  Shame  ! '  and  '  Scandalous  ! ' 

The  cause  of  all  the  commotion  was  this.  There 
had  appeared  in  a  morning  paper  a  reprint  of  a 
highly  disrespectful  report  made  to  the  Academie  of 
Florence  upon  Astier-Rehu's  '  Galileo  '  and  the  mani- 
festly apocryphal  and  absurd  (sic)  historical  documents 
which  were  published  with  it.  The  report  had  been 
sent  with  the  greatest  privacy  to  the  President  of  the 
Academie  Francaise,  and  for  some  days  there  had  been 
considerable  excitement  at  the  Institute,  where  Astier- 
Rehu's  decision  was  eagerly  awaited.  He  had  said 
nothing  but,  '  I  know,  I  know  ;  I  am  taking  the  neces- 
sary steps.'  And  now  suddenly  here  was  this  report 
which  they  believed  to  be  known  only  to  themselves, 
hurled  at  them  like  a  bomb-shell  from  the  outer 
sheet  of  one  of  the  most  widely  circulated  of  the 

T 


274  ONE   OF  THE  'FORTY* 

Parisian  newspapers,  and  accompanied  by  remarks 
insulting  to  the  Permanent  Secretary  and  to  the 
whole  Society. 

Furious  was  the  indignant  outcry  against  the 
impudence  of  the  journalist  and  the  folly  of  Astier- 
Rehu,  which  had  brought  this  upon  them.  The 
Academie  has  not  been  accustomed  to  such  attacks, 
since  it  has  prudently  opened  its  doors  to  '  gentlemen 
of  the  Press.'  The  fiery  Laniboire,  familiar  with  every 
kind  of  '  sport,'  talked  of  cutting  off  the  gentleman's 
ears,  and  it  took  two  or  three  colleagues  to  restrain 
his  ardour. 

'  Come,  Laniboire ;  we  wear  the  sword,  but  we 
do  not  draw  it.  Why,  it's  your  own  epigram,  con- 
found you,  though  adopted  by  the  Institute.' 

*  Gentlemen,  you  remember  that  Pliny  the  Elder, 
in  the  thirteenth  book  of  his  "  Natural  History  "  ' — 
here  arrived  Gazan,  who  came  in  puffing  with  his 
elephantine  trot — '  is  one  of  the  first  writers  who 
mentions  counterfeit  autographs  ;  amongst  others,  a 
false  letter  of  Priam's  on  papyrus ' — 

1  Monsieur  Gazan  has  not  signed  the  list,'  cried 
Picheral's  sharp  falsetto. 

'  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.'  And  the  fat  man  went 
off  to  sign,  still  discoursing  about  papyrus  and  King 
Priam,  though  unheard  for  the  hubbub  of  angry 
voices,  in  which  the  only  word  that  could  be  distin- 


ONE  OF  THE  '  FORTY  '  275 

guished  was  '  Academic'  They  all  talked  about  the 
Academic  as  if  it  were  an  actual  live  person,  whose 
real  view  each  man  believed  himself  alone  to  know 
and  to  express.  Suddenly  the  exclamations  ceased, 
as  Astier-Rihu  entered,  signed  his  name,  and  quietly 
deposited  at  his  place  as  Permanent  Secretary  the 
ensign  of  his  office,  carried  under  his  arm.  Then 
moving  towards  his  colleagues  he  said  : 

'  Gentlemen,  I  have  bad  news  for  you.  I  sent  to 
the  Library  to  be  tested  the  twelve  or  fifteen  thousand 
documents  which  made  what  I  called  my  collection. 
Well,  gentlemen,  all  are  forgeries.  The  Academie  of 
Florence  stated  the  truth.  I  am  the  victim  of  a 
stupendous  hoax.' 

As  he  wiped  from  his  brow  the  great  drops  of 
sweat  wrung  out  by  the  strain  of  his  confession,  some 
one  asked  in  an  insolent  tone : 

1  Well,  and  so,  Mr.  Secretary  '— 

'So,  M.  Danjou,  I  had  no  other  choice  but  to 
bring  an  action — which  is  what  I  have  done.'  There 
was  a  general  protest,  all  declaring  that  a  lawsuit 
was  out  of  the  question  and  would  bring  ridicule 
upon  the  whole  Society,  to  which  he  answered  that  he 
was  exceedingly  sorry  to  disoblige  his  colleagues,  but 
his  mind  was  made  up.  'Besides,  the  man  is  in 
prison  and  the  proceedings  have  commenced.' 

Never  had  the  private  assembly-room  heard  a  roar 

T2 


276  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

like  that  which  greeted  this  statement.  Laniboire 
distinguished  himself  as  usual  among  the  most  ex- 
cited by  shouting  that  the  Academie  ought  to  get  rid 
of  so  dangerous  a  member.  In  the  first  heat  of  their 
anger  some  of  the  assembly  began  to  discuss  the 
question  aloud.  Could  it  be  done?  Could  the 
Academie  say  to  a  member  who  had  brought  the 
whole  body  into  an  undignified  position,  '  Go !  I 
reverse  my  judgment.  Deity  as  you  are,  I  relegate 
you  to  the  rank  of  a  mere  mortal '  ?  Suddenly,  either 
having  caught  a  few  words  of  the  discussion,  or  by 
one  of  those  strange  intuitions  which  seem  occa- 
sionally to  come  as  an  inspiration  to  the  most 
hopelessly  deaf,  old  Rehu,  who  had  been  keeping  to 
himself,  away  from  the  fire  for  fear  of  a  fit,  remarked 
in  his  loud  unmodulated  voice,  '  During  the  Restora- 
ti  ;i,  for  reasons  merely  political,  we  turned  out  eleven 
members  at  once.'  The  patriarch  gave  the  usual  little 
attesting  movement  of  the  head,  calling  to  witness 
his  contemporaries  of  the  period,  white  busts  with 
vacant  eyes  standing  in  rows  on  pedestals  round  the 
room. 

4  Eleven  !  whew  !'  muttered  Danjou  amid  a  great 
silence.  And  Laniboire,  cynical  as  before,  said  '  All 
societies  are  cowardly  ;  it's  the  natural  law  of  self- 
preservation.'  Here  Epinchard,  who  had  been  busy 
near  the  door  with  Picheral  the  Secretary,  rejoined  the 
rest,  and  ebserved  in  a  weak  voice,  between  two  fits  of 


ONE  OF  THE  '  FORTY  '  277 

coughing,  that  the  Permanent  Secretary  was  not  the 
only  person  to  blame  in  the  matter,  as  would  appear 
from  the  minutes  of  the  proceedings  of  July  8,  1879, 
which  should  now  be  read.  Picheral  from  his  place,  in 
his  thin  brisk  voice,  began  at  a  great  pace  :  On  July  8, 
1879,  Leonard- Pierre- Alexandre  Astler-Re'hu  presented 
to  the  Academie  Francalse  a  letter  from  Rotrou  to 
Cardinal  Richelieu  respecting  the  statutes  of  the 
Society.  The  Academie,  after  an  examination  of  this 
unpublished  and  interesting  document,  passed  a  vote 
of  thanks  to  the  donor,  and  decided  to  enter  the  letter 
of  Rotrou  upon  the  minutes.  The  letter  Is  appended 
(at  this  point  the  Secretary  slackened  his  delivery 
and  put  a  malicious  stress  upon  each  word)  with  all 
the  errors  of  the  original  text,  which,  being  such  as  occur 
in  ordinary  correspondence,  confirm  the  authenticity  of 
the  document.  All  stood  motionless  in  the  faded 
light  that  came  through  the  glass,  avoiding  each 
other's  eyes  and  listening  in  utter  amazement. 

'  Shall  I  read  the  letter  too  ? '  asked  Picheral  with 
a  smile.     He  was  much  amused. 

'  Yes,  read  the  letter  too,'  said  Epinchard.  But 
after  a  phrase  or  two  there  were  cries  of  '  Enough, 
enough,  that  will  do  ! '  They  were  ashamed  of  such 
a  letter  of  Rotrou.  It  was  a  crying  forgery,  a  mere 
schoolboy's  imitation,  the  sentences  mis-shapen,  and 
half  the  words  not  known  at  the  supposed  date.  How 
could  they  have  been  so  blind  ? 


278  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

'You  see,  gentlemen,  that  we  could  scarcely  throw 
the  whole  burden  upon  our  unfortunate  colleague,' 
said  Epinchard  ;  and  turning  to  the  Permanent 
Secretary  begged  him  to  abandon  proceedings  which 
could  bring  nothing  but  discredit  upon  the  whole 
Society  and  the  great  Cardinal  himself. 

But  neither  the  fervour  of  the  appeal  nor  the 
magnificence  of  the  orator's  attitude,  as  he  pointed  to 
the  insignia  of  the  Sacred  Founder,  could  prevail  over 
the  stubborn  resolution  of  Astier-Rehu.  Standing 
firm  and  upright  before  the  little  table  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  which  was  used  as  a  desk  for  the  reading 
of  communications,  with  his  fists  clenched,  as  if  he 
feared  that  his  decision  might  be  wrung  out  of  his 
hands,  he  repeated  that  •  Nothing,  I  assure  you, 
nothing'  would  alter  his  determination.  He  struck 
the  hard  wood  angrily  with  his  big  knuckles,  as  he 
said, '  Ah,  gentlemen,  I  have  waited,  for  reasons  like 
these,  too  long  already !  I  tell  you,  my  '  Galileo  '  is  a 
bone  in  my  throat !  I  am  not  rich  enough  to  buy  it 
up,  and  I  see  it  in  the  shop  windows,  advertising  me 
as  the  accomplice  of  a  forger.'  What  was  his  object ! 
Why,  to  tear  out  the  rotten  pages  with  his  own  hand 
and  burn  them  before  all  the  world  !  A  trial  would 
give  him  the  opportunity.  '  You  talk  of  ridicule  ? 
The  Acad^mie  is  above  the  fear  of  it ;  and  as  for  me, 
a  butt  and  a  beggar  as  I  must  be,  I  shall  have  the 


ONE   OF   THE   '  FORTY  '  279 

proud  satisfaction  of  having  protected  my  personal 
honour  and  the  dignity  of  history.  I  ask  no  more.' 
Honest  Crocodilus  !  In  the  beat  of  his  rhetoric  was 
a  sound  of  pure  probity,  which  rang  strangely  where 
all  around  was  padded  with  compromise  and  conceal- 
ment. Suddenly  the  usher  announced,  c  Four  o'clock, 
gentlemen.'  Four  o'clock  !  and  they  had  not  finished 
the  arrangements  for  Ripault-Babin's  funeral. 

'  Ah,  we  must  remember  Ripault-Babin  ! '  observed 
Danjou  in  a  mocking  voice.  '  He  has  died  at  the 
right  moment!'  said  Laniboire  with  mournful  em- 
phasis. But  the  point  of  his  epigram  was  lost,  for  the 
usher  was  crying, '  Take  your  places ' ;  and  the  Presi- 
dent was  ringing  his  bell.  On  his  right  was  Des- 
minieres  the  Chancellor,  and  on  his  left  the  Permanent 
Secretary,  reading  quietly  with  recovered  self-posses- 
sion the  report  of  the  Funeral  Committee,  to  an 
accompaniment  of  eager  whispers  and  the  pattering 
of  sleet  on  the  glass. 

*  How  late  you  went  on  to-day ! '  remarked  Coren- 
tine,  as  she  opened  the  door  to  her  master.  Corentine 
was  certainly  to  be  reckoned  with  those  who  had  no 
great  opinion  of  the  Institute.  '  M.  Paul  is  in  your 
study  with  Madame.  You  must  go  through  the 
library  ;  the  drawing-room  is  full  of  people  waiting  to 
see  you.' 


280  ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY* 

The  library,  where  nothing  was  left  but  the  frame 
of  the  pigeon-holes,  looked  as  if  there  had  been  a 
fire  or  a  burglary.  It  depressed  him,  and  he  gene- 
rally avoided  it.  But  to-day  he  went  through  it 
proudly,  supported  by  the  remembrance  of  his  re- 
solve, and  of  how  he  had  declared  it  at  the  meeting. 
After  an  effort,  which  had  cost  him  so  much  courage 
and  determination,  he  felt  a  sweet  sense  of  relief  in 
the  thought  that  his  son  was  waiting  for  him.  He 
had  not  seen  him  since  just  after  the  duel,  when  he 
had  been  overcome  by  the  sight  of  his  gallant  boy, 
laid  at  full  length  and  whiter  than  the  sheet.  He 
was  thinking  with  delight  how  he  would  go  up  to 
him  with  open  arms,  and  embrace  him,  and  hold  him 
tight,  a  long  while,  and  say  nothing — nothing !  But 
as  soon  as  he  came  into  the  room  and  saw  the 
mother  and  son  close  together,  whispering,  with  their 
eyes  on  the  carpet,  and  their  everlasting  air  of  con- 
spiracy, the  affectionate  impulse  was  gone. 

'  Here  you  are  at  last ! '  cried  Madame  Astier,  who 
was  dressed  to  go  out.  And  in  a  tone  of  mock  solem- 
nity, as  if  introducing  the  two,  she  said,  '  My  dear — 
the  Count  Paul  Astier.' 

1  At  your  service,  Master,'  said  Paul,  as  he  bowed. 

Astier-Rehu  knitted  his  thick  brow^  as  he  looked 
at  them.     •  Count  Paul  Astier  ? '  said  he. 

The  young  fellow,  as  charming  as  ever,  in  spite 


ONE  OF   THE  '  FORTY  '  28 1 

of  the  tanning  of  six  months  spent  in  the  open  air, 
said  he  had  just  indulged  in  the  extravagance  of  a 
Roman  title,  not  so  much  for  his  own  sake  as  in 
honour  of  the  lady  who  was  about  to  take  his 
name. 

'  So  you  are  going  to  be  married,'  said  his  father, 
whose  suspicions  increased.     '  And  who  is  the  lady  ? ' 

'The  Duchess  Padovani.' 

'  You  must  have  lost  your  senses  !  Why  she  is 
five-and-twenty  years  older  than  you,  and  besides — 
and  besides — '  He  hesitated,  trying  to  find  a  re- 
spectful phrase,  but  at  last  blurted  right  out,  '  You 
can't  marry  a  woman  who  to  every  one's  knowledge 
has  belonged  to  another  for  years.' 

'  A  fact,  however,  which  has  never  prevented  our 
dining  with  her  regularly,  and  accepting  from  her 
all  kinds  of  favours,'  hissed  Madame  Astier,  rearing 
her  little  head  as  to  strike.  Without  bestowing  on 
her  a  word  or  a  look,  as  holding  her  no  judge  in 
a  ouestion  of  honour,  the  man  went  up  to  his  son, 
ami  said  in  earnest  tones,  the  muscles  of  his  big 
cheeks  twitching  with  emotion,  '  Don't  do  it,  Paul. 
For  the  sake  of  the  name  you  bear,  don't  do  it, 
my  boy,  I  beg  you.'  He  grasped  his  son's  shoulder 
and  shook  him,  voice  and  hand  quivering  together. 
But  the  young  fellow  moved  away,  not  liking  such 
demonstrations,    and    objected   generally   that    '  he 


282  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

didn't  see  it ;  it  was  not  his  view.'  The  father  felt 
the  impassable  distance  between  himself  and  his  son, 
saw  the  impenetrable  face  and  the  look  askance, 
and  instinctively  lifted  up  his  voice  in  appeal  to 
his  rights  as  head  of  the  family.  A  smile  which 
he  caught  passing  between  Paul  and  his  mother, 
a  fresh  proof  of  their  joint  share  in  this  discredit- 
able business,  completed  his  exasperation.  He 
shouted  and  raved,  threatening  to  make  a  public 
protest,  to  write  to  the  papers,  to  brand  them  both, 
mother  and  son,  '  in  his  history.'  This  last  was  his 
most  appalling  threat.  When  he  had  said  of  some 
historical  character,  '  I  have  branded  him  in  my 
history,'  he  thought  no  punishment  could  be  more 
severe.  Madame  Astier,  almost  as  familiar  with  the 
threat  of  branding  as  with  the  dragging  of  his  trunk 
about  the  passage,  contented  herself  with  saying  as 
she  buttoned  her  gloves  :  '  You  know  every  word  can 
be  heard  in  the  next  room.'  In  spite  of  the  curtains 
over  the  door,  the  murmur  of  conversation  was  audible 
from  the  drawing-room. 

Then,  repressing  and  swallowing  his  wrath,  *  Listen 
to  me,  Paul,'  said  Leonard  Astier,  shaking  his  fore- 
finger in  the  young  man's  face,  '  if  ever  this  thing 
you  are  talking  of  comes  to  pass,  do  not  expect  to 
look  upon  me  again.  I  will  not  be  present  on  your 
wedding  day ;  I  will  not  have  you  near  me,  not  even 


ONE  OF   THE   'FORTY'  2§3 

at  my  death-bed.  You  are  no  longer  a  son  of  mine  ; 
and  you  go  with  my  curse  upon  you.'  Moving  away 
instinctively  from  the  finger  which  almost  touched 
him,  Paul  replied  with  great  calmness,  '  Oh,  you  know, 
my  dear  father,  that  sort  of  thing  is  never  done  now- 
a-days  !  Even  on  the  stage  they  have  given  up 
blessing  and  cursing.' 

''But  not  punishing,  you  scoundrel ! '  growled  the 
old  man,  lifting  his  hand.  There  was  an  angry 
cry  of  '  Leonard ! '  from  the  mother,  as  with  the 
prompt  parry  of  a  boxer  Paul  turned  the  blow  aside, 
quietly  as  if  he  had  been  in  Keyser's  gymnasium, 
and  without  letting  go  the  wrist  he  had  twisted 
under,  said  beneath  his  breath,  '  No,  no  ;  I  won't  have 
that.' 

The  tough  old  hillsman  struggled  violently,  but, 
vigorous  as  he  still  was,  he  had  found  his  master.  At 
this  terrible  moment,  while  father  and  son  stood  face 
to  face,  breathing  hate  at  one  another,  and  exchanging 
murderous  glances,  the  door  of  the  drawing-room 
opened  a  little  and  showed  the  good-natured  doll-like 
smile  of  a  fat  lady  bedecked  with  feathers  and  flowers. 
'  Excuse  me,  dear  master,  I  want  just  to  say  a  word 
— why,  Adelaide  is  here,  and  M.  Paul  too.  Charming! 
delightful !  Quite  a  family  group  ! '  Madame  Ancelin 
was  right.  A  family  group  it  was,  a  picture  of 
the  modern  family,  spoilt  by  the  crack  which  runs 


284  ONE  OF   THE  '  FORTY  ' 

through  European  society  from  top  to  bottom,  en- 
dangering its  essential  principles  of  authority  and 
subordination,  and  nowhere  more  remarkable  than 
here,  under  the  stately  dome  of  the  Institute, 
where  the  traditional  domestic  virtues  are  judged  and 
rewarded. 


ONE  OF  THE  '  FORTY  '  285 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

It  was  stifling  in  the  Eighth  Chamber,  where  the 
Fage  case  was  just  coming  on  after  interminable 
preliminaries  and  great  efforts  on  the  part  of  influ- 
ential persons  to  stop  the  proceedings.  Never  had 
this  court-room,  whose  walls  of  a  mouldy  blue  and 
diamond  pattern  in  faded  gilding  reeked  with  the 
effluvium  of  rags  and  misery,  never  had  this  court 
seen  squeezed  on  its  dirty  seats  and  packed  in  its 
passages  such  a  press  and  such  a  crowd  of  fashion- 
able and  distinguished  persons,  so  many  flower- 
trimmed  bonnets  and  spring  costumes  by  the  masters 
of  millinery  art,  to  throw  into  relief  the  dead  black 
of  the  gowns  and  caps.  People  were  still  coming  in 
through  the  entrance  lobby,  where  the  double  doors 
were  perpetually  swinging  as  the  tide  flowed  on,  a 
wavy  sea  of  thronging  faces  upturned  beneath  the 
whitish  light  of  the  landing.  Everyone  was  there, 
all  the  well-known,  well-worn,  depressingly  familiar 
personages  that  figure  at  every  Parisian  festivity, 
fashionable  funeral,  or  famous  'first  night.'      There 


286  ONE  OF  THE  '  FORTY  ' 

was  Marguerite  Oger  well  to  the  fore,  and  the  little 
Countess  Foder,  and  beautiful  Mrs.  Henry  of  the 
American  Embassy.  There  were  the  ladies  belong- 
ing to  the  Academic  confraternity,  Madame  Ancelin 
in  mauve  on  the  arm  of  Raverand,  the  leader  of  the 
bar  ;  Madame  Eviza,a  bush  of  little  roses  surrounded 
by  a  busy  humming  swarm  of  would-be  barristers. 
Behind  the  President's  bench  was  Danjou,  standing 
with  folded  arms,  and  showing  above  the  audience 
and  the  judges  the  hard  angles  of  his  regular  stage- 
weathered  countenance,  everywhere  to  be  seen  during 
the  last  forty  years  as  the  type  of  social  common- 
place in  all  its  manifold  manifestations.  With  the 
exception  of  Astier-Rehu  and  Baron  Huchenard, 
who  were  summoned  as  witnesses,  he  was  the  only 
Academician  bold  enough  to  face  the  irreverent 
remarks  that  might  be  expected  in  the  speech  of 
Fage's  counsel,  Margery,  the  dreaded  wit,  who  con- 
vulses the  whole  assembly  and  the  bench  with  the 
mere  sound  of  his  nasal  '  Well.'  Some  fun  was  to  be 
expected  ;  the  whole  atmosphere  of  the  place 
announced  it,  the  erratic  tilt  of  the  barristers'  caps, 
the  gleam  in  the  eyes  and  curl  in  the  corners  of  the 
mouths  of  people  giving  one  another  little  anticipa- 
tory smiles.  There  were  endless  anecdotes  current 
about  the  achievements  in  gallantry  of  the  little 
humpback    who    had    just     been    brought    to    the 


ONE  OF   THE  '  FORTY  '  287 

prisoner's  box  and,  lifting  his  long  well-greased 
head,  cast  into  the  court  over  the  bar  the  con- 
quering glance  of  a  manifest  ladies'  man.  Stories 
were  told  of  compromising  letters,  of  an  account 
drawn  up  by  the  prisoner  mentioning  right  out  the 
names  of  two  or  three  well-known  ladies  of  fashion, 
the  regular  names  dragged  again  and  again  into 
every  unsavoury  case.  There  was  a  copy  of  the 
production  going  the  rounds  of  the  seats  reserved  for 
the  press,  a  simple  conceited  autobiography  con- 
taining none  of  the  revelations  imputed  to  it  by 
public  rumour.  Fage  had  beguiled  the  tedium  of  con- 
finement by  writing  for  the  court  the  story  of  his  life. 
He  was  born,  he  said,  near  Vassy  (Haute  Marne),  as 
straight  as  anybody — so  they  all  say — but  a  fall 
from  a  horse  at  fifteen  had  bent  and  inflected  his 
spine.  His  taste  for  gallantry  had  developed  some- 
what late  in  life  when  he  was  working  at  a  book- 
seller's in  the  Passage  des  Panoramas.  As  his 
deformity  interfered  with  his  success,  he  tried  to  find 
some  way  of  getting  plenty  of  money.  The  story  of 
his  love  affairs  alternating  with  that  of  his  forgeries 
and  the  means  employed,  with  descriptions  of  ink 
and  of  parchment,  resulted  in  such  headings  to  his 
chapters  as  '  My  first  victim — For  a  red  ribbon — 
The  gingerbread  fair — I  make  the  acquaintance 
of  Astier-Rihu — The    mysterious    ink — I    defy    the 


288  ONE  OF  THE  «  FORTY  ' 

chemists  of  the  Institute.'  This  brief  epitome  la 
enough  to  show  the  combination,  the  humpback's 
self-satisfaction  phis  the  arrogance  of  the  self-taught 
artisan.  The  general  result  of  reading  the  pro- 
duction was  utter  amazement  that  the  Permanent 
Secretary  of  the  Academie  Franchise  and  the  official 
representatives  of  science  and  literature  could  have 
been  taken  in  for  two  or  three  years  by  an  igno- 
rant dwarf  with  a  brain  crammed  full  of  the  refuse 
of  libraries  and  the  ill-digested  parings  of  books. 
This  constituted  the  extraordinary  joke  of  the  whole 
business,  and  was  the  explanation  of  the  crowded 
court.  People  came  to  see  the  Academie  pilloried 
in  the  person  of  Astier-Rehu,  who  sat  among  the 
witnesses,  the  mark  of  every  eye.  There  he  sat 
without  moving,  absorbed  in  his  thoughts,  not  turning 
his  head,  and  hardly  answering  the  fulsome  com- 
pliments of  Freydet  who  was  standing  behind,  with 
black  gloves  and  a  deep  crape  hat-band,  having  quite 
recently  lost  his  sister.  He  had  been  summoned  for 
the  defence,  and  the  Academic  candidate  was  afraid 
that  the  fact  might  damage  him  in  the  eyes  of  his  old 
master.  He  was  apologising  and  explaining  how  he 
had  come  across  the  wretched  Fage  in  Vedrine's 
studio,  and  that  was  the  reason  of  this  unexpected 
call.  But  his  whispers  were  lost  in  the  noise  of 
the  court  and  the  monotonous  hum  from  the  bench,  as 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY5  289 

cases  were  called  on  and  disposed  of,  the  invariable 
4  This  day  week,  this  day  week  '  descending  like  the 
stroke  of  the  guillotine  and  cutting  short  the 
barrister's  protest,  and  the  entreaties  of  poor  red- 
faced  fellows  mopping  their  brows  before  the  seat  of 
justice.  '  But,  Monsieur  le  President  .  ,  .'  '  This  day 
week.'  Sometimes  from  the  back  of  the  court  would 
come  a  cry  and  a  despairing  movement  of  a  pair  of 
arms,  '  I  am  here,  M.  le  President,  but  I  can't  get 
through,  there's  such  a  crowd  .  .  .'  '  This  day  week.' 
When  a  man  has  beheld  such  clearances  as  these, 
and  seen  the  symbolic  scales  operate  with  such 
dexterity,  he  gets  a  vivid  impression  of  French 
justice  ;  it  is  not  unlike  the  sensation  of  hearing  the 
funeral  service  raced  through  in  a  hurry  by  a  strange 
priest  over  a  pauper's  grave. 

The  voice  of  the  President  called  for  the  Fage 
case.  Complete  silence  followed  in  the  court,  and 
even  on  the  staircase  landing  where  people  had 
climbed  on  to  benches  to  see.  Then  after  a  short 
consultation  on  the  bench  the  witnesses  filed  out 
through  a  dense  crowd  of  gowns  on  their  way  to  the 
little  room  reserved  for  them,  a  dreary  empty  place, 
badly  lighted  by  glass  windows  that  had  once  been 
red,  and  looking  out  on  a  narrow  alley.  Astier-Rehu, 
who  was  to  be  called  first,  did  not  go  in,  but  walked 
up,  and  down   in  the  gloomy  passage   between  the 

U 


290  ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY' 

witness-room  and  the  court.  Freydet  wished  to 
stay  with  him,  but  he  said  in  a  colourless  voice,  '  No, 
no,  let  me  alone,  I  want  to  be  alone.'  So  the  candi- 
date joined  the  other  witnesses  who  were  standing  in 
little  knots — Baron  Huchenard,  Bos  the  palaeographer, 
Delpech  the  chemist,  of  the  Academie  des  Sciences, 
some  experts  in  handwriting,  and  two  or  three  pretty 
girls,  the  originals  of  some  of  the  photographs  that 
adorned  the  walls  of  Fage's  room,  delighted  at 
the  notoriety  that  the  proceedings  would  bring  them, 
laughing  loudly  and  displaying  startling  little  spring 
hats  strangely  different  from  the  linen  cap  and 
woollen  mittens  of  the  caretaker  at  the  Cour  des 
Comptes.  Vedrine  also  had  been  summoned,  and 
Freydet  came  and  sat  by  him  on  the  wide  ledge  of 
the  open  window.  The  two  friends,  whirled  apart 
in  the  opposing  currents  that  divide  men's  lives  in 
Paris,  had  not  met  since  the  summer  before  until  the 
recent  funeral  of  poor  Germaine  de  Freydet.  Vedrine 
pressed  his  friend's  hand  and  asked  how  he  was,  how 
he  felt  after  so  terrible  a  blow.  Freydet  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  '  It's  hard,  very  hard,  but  after  all  I'm 
used  to  it.'  Then,  as  Vedrine  stared  in  wonder  at 
his  selfish  stoicism,  he  added,  'Just  think,  that's  twice 
in  one  year  that  I  have  been  fooled.'  The  blow,  the 
only  blow,  that  he  remembered,  was  his  failure  to 
get  Ripault-Babin's  seat,  which  he  had  lately  missed, 


ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY*  29 1 

as  he  had  missed  Loisillon's  before.  Presently  he 
understood,  sighed  deeply,  and  said,  '  Ah,  yes,  poor 
Germaine ! '  She  had  taken  so  much  trouble  all  the 
winter  about  his  unlucky  candidature.  Two  dinners 
a  week !  Up  to  twelve  or  one  o'clock  she  would 
be  wheeling  her  chair  all  over  the  drawing-room. 
She  had  sacrificed  her  remaining  strength  to  it,  and 
was  even  more  excited  and  keen  than  her  brother. 
And  at  the  last,  the  very  last,  when  she  was  past 
speaking,  her  poor  twisted  fingers  went  on  counting 
upon  the  hem  of  the  sheet.  '  Yes,  V^drine,  she  died, 
ticking  and  calculating  my  chances  of  Ripault- 
Babin's  seat.  Oh,  if  only  for  her  sake,  I  will  get 
into  their  Academie,  in  defiance  of  them  all,  and  in 
honour  of  her  dear  memory ! '  He  stopped  short, 
then  in  an  altered  and  lower  voice  went  on  :  '  Really 
I  don't  know  why  I  talk  like  that.  The  truth  is  that, 
since  they  put  the  idea  into  my  head,  I  can  think  of 
nothing  else.  My  sister  is  dead  and  I  have  hardly 
given  her  a  tear.  I  had  to  pay  my  calls  and 
"  beg  for  the  Acaddmie,"  as  that  fellow  says.  The 
thing  takes  the  very  life  out  of  me.  It's  perfectly 
maddening.' 

In  the  savage  plainness  of  these  words  and  the 
excited  ring  of  the  angry  voice,  the  sculptor  could 
scarcely  recognise  his  gentle  courteous  friend,  to 
whom  mere  living  used  to  be  a  joy.      The  absent 


62 


292  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

expression  in  his  eye,  the  anxious  wrinkle  on  his 
brow,  and  the  heat  of  the  hand  which  grasped 
Vedrine's,  all  betrayed  his  subjection  to  one  absorb- 
ing passion,  one  fixed  idea.  But  the  meeting  with 
Vedrine  seemed  to  have  relieved  his  nerves,  and  he 
asked  affectionately, '  Well,  what  are  you  doing,  and 
how  are  you  getting  on  ?  How  is  your  wife  ?  And 
the  children  ? '  His  friend  answered  with  his  quiet 
smile.  All  were  doing  well,  thank  God.  The  little 
girl  was  just  going  to  be  weaned.  The  boy  continued 
to  fulfil  his  function  of  looking  lovely,  and  was 
waiting  impatiently  for  old  Rehu's  centenary.  As 
for  himself,  he  was  hard  at  work.  He  had  two 
pictures  in  the  Salon  this  year,  not  badly  hung,  and 
not  badly  sold.  On  the  other  hand  a  creditor,  not 
less  unwise  than  hard,  had  taken  possession  of  the 
Knight,  and  he  had  passed  from  stage  to  stage,  first 
lying  much  in  the  way  in  a  fine  suite  of  rooms  on  the 
ground  floor  in  the  Rue  St.  P^tersbourg,  then  packed 
off  to  a  stable  at  Batignolles,  and  now  shivering 
under  a  cowkeeper's  shed  at  Levallois,  where  from 
time  to  time  the  sculptor  and  his  family  went  to  pay 
him  a  visit. 

'  So  much  for  glory  ! '  added  Vedrine  with  a  laugh, 
as  the  voice  of  the  usher  called  for  the  witness 
Astier-Rehu.  The  head  of  the  Permanent  Secretary 
showed   for  a   moment,  outlined  against  the  dusty 


ONE  OF  THE  «  FORTY  '  293 

light  of  the  court-room,  upright  and  steady ;  but 
his  back  he  had  forgotten  to  control,  and  the  shiver 
of  his  broad  shoulders  betrayed  intense  feeling. 
4  Poor  man,'  muttered  the  sculptor,  *  he's  got  heavy 
trials  to  go  through.  This  autograph  business,  and 
his  son's  marriage.' 

1  Is  Paul  Astier  married  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  three  days  ago,  to  the  Duchess  Padovani. 
It  was  a  sort  of  morganatic  marriage,  with  no 
guests  but  the  young  man's  mamma  and  the  four 
witnesses.  I  was  one  of  them,  as  you  may  suppose, 
for  a  freak  of  fate  seems  to  associate  me  with  all 
the  acts  and  deeds  of  the  Astier  family.' 

And  Vedrine  described  the  sorrowful  surprise 
with  which  in  the  Mayor's  room  he  had  seen  the 
Duchess  Padovani  appear,  deathly  pale,  as  haughty 
as  ever,  but  withered  and  heart-broken,  with  a 
mass  of  grey  hair,  the  poor  beautiful  hair  that  she 
no  longer  took  the  trouble  to  dye.  By  her  side 
was  Paul  Astier,  the  Count,  smiling,  cold,  and 
charming  as  before.  They  all  looked  at  one  another, 
and  nobody  had  a  word  to  say  except  the  official 
who,  after  a  good  stare  at  the  two  old  ladies,  felt 
it  incumbent  upon  him  to  remark  with  a  gracious 
bow: 

'  We  are  only  waiting  for  the  bride.' 

'  The  bride  is  here,'  replied  the  Duchess,  stepping 


294  °NE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

forward  with  head  erect  and  a  bitter  smile  which 
spoilt  and  twisted  her  beautiful  mouth. 

From  the  Mayor's  office,  where  the  deputy  on  duty 
had  the  good  taste  to  spare  them  an  oration,  they 
adjourned  to  the  Catholic  Institute  in  the  Rue  de 
Vaugirard,  an  aristocratic  church,  all  over  gilding  and 
flowers  and  a  blaze  of  candles,  but  not  a  soul  there, 
nobody  but  the  wedding  party  on  a  single  row  of 
chairs,  to  hear  the  Papal  Nuncio,  Monsignor  Adriani, 
mumble  an  interminable  homily  out  of  an  illuminated 
book.  A  fine  thing  it  was,  to  hear  the  worldly 
prelate  with  large  nose,  thin  lips,  and  hollow 
shoulders  under  his  violet  cape,  talking  of  the 
'honourable  traditions  of  the  husband  and  the 
charms  of  the  wife,'  with  a  sombre,  cynical  side- 
glance  at  the  velvet  cushions  of  the  unhappy 
couple.  Then  came  the  departure  ;  cold  good-byes 
were  exchanged  under  the  arches  of  the  little 
cloister,  and  a  sigh  of  relief  with  '  Well,  that's  over,' 
escaped  the  Duchess,  said  in  the  despairing,  dis- 
enchanted accent  of  a  woman  who  has  measured  the 
abyss,  and  leaps  in  with  her  eyes  open  only  to  keep 
her  word. 

'  Ah,  well,'  Vedrine  went  on,  '  I  have  seen  gloomy 
and  lamentable  sights  enough  in  the  course  of  my 
life,  but  never  anything  so  heart-breaking  as  Paul 
Astier's  wedding.' 


ONE   OF   THE   *  FORTY  '  295 

1  He's  a  fine  rascal,  though,  is  our  young  friend,' 
said  Freydet,  between  his  closed  teeth. 

'Yes,  a  precious  product  of  the  "struggle  for 
existence." ' 

The  sculptor  repeated  the  phrase  with  emphasis. 
A  'struggler  for  existence'  was  his  name  for  the 
novel  tribe  of  young  savages  who  cite  the  necessity 
of  '  nature's  war '  as  an  hypocritical  excuse  for  every 
kind  of  meanness.     Freydet  went  on  : 

'  Well,  anyhow,  he's  rich  now,  which  is  what  he 
wanted.     His  nose  has  not  led  him  astray  this  time.' 

1  Wait  and  see.  The  Duchess  is  not  easy  to  get 
on  with,  and  he  looked  devilish  wicked  at  the 
Mayor's.  If  the  old  lady  bores  him  too  much,  we 
may  still  see  him  some  day  at  the  Assize  Court,  son 
and  grandson  of  divinities  as  he  is.' 

'  The  witness  Vedrine ! '  called  the  usher  at  the 
top  of  his  voice. 

At  the  same  moment  a  huge  roar  of  laughter  ran 
over  the  thronging  crowd  and  came  through  the  door 
as  it  swung  open.  '  They  don't  seem  bored  in 
there,'  said  the  municipal  officer  posted  in  the  passage. 
The  witnesses'  room,  which  had  been  gradually  empty- 
ing during  the  chat  of  the  two  schoolfellows,  now  con- 
tained only  Freydet  and  the  caretaker,  who,  scared  at 
having  to  appear  in  court,  was  twisting  the  strings  of 
her  cap  like  a  lunatic.     The  worthy  candidate,  on  the 


295  ONE  OF  THE  '  FORTY  ' 

contrary,  thought  he  had  an  unparalleled  opportunity 
of  burning  incense  at  the  shrine  of  the  Academie 
Francaise  and  its  Permanent  Secretary.  Left  alone, 
when  the  good  woman's  turn  came,  he  paced  up  and 
down  the  room,  planted  himself  in  front  of  the 
window,  and  let  off  well-rounded  periods  accompanied 
by  magnificent  gestures  of  his  black  gloves.  But 
he  was  misunderstood  in  the  house  opposite  ;  and  a 
fat  hand  at  the  end  of  a  bare  arm  pulled  aside  a 
pink  curtain  and  waved  to  him.  Freydet,  flushing 
crimson  with  shame,  moved  quickly  away  from  the 
window,  and  took  refuge  in  the  passage. 

'  The  Public  Prosecutor  is  speaking  now,'  said  the 
doorkeeper  in  a  whisper,  as  a  voice  in  a  tone  of 
assumed  indignation  rang  through  the  heated  air  of 
the  court — '  You  played,'  it  said,  '  on  the  innocent 
passion  of  an  old  man.' 

'  But  how  about  me  ? '  said  Freydet,  thinking 
aloud. 

'  I  expect  you  have  been  forgotten.' 

Freydet  was  at  first  puzzled,  but  presently  dis- 
gusted at  the  strange  fate  which  prevented  his  coming 
forward  in  public  as  the  champion  of  the  Academie, 
and  so  getting  himself  talked  about  and  seeing 
his  name  for  once  in  the  papers.  Just  then  a 
shout  of  laughter  greeted  the  enumeration  of  the 
forgeries    in     the    Mesnil-Case     collection ;     letters 


ONE  OF  THE  '  FORTY  »  297 

from  kings,  popes,  empresses,  Turenne,  Buffon, 
Montaigne,  La  Boetie,  Cldmence  Isaure,  and  the 
mere  mention  of  the  absurd  list  showed  the  extra- 
ordinary simplicity  of  the  historian  who  had  been 
befooled  by  the  little  dwarf.  But  at  the  thought  that 
this  disrespectful  laugh  was  a  scoff  at  his  master  and 
protector,  Freydet  felt  an  indignation  not  altogether 
free  from  selfishness.  He  felt  that  he  was  himself  hit 
by  the  recoil,  and  his  candidature  damaged  again. 
He  broke  away,  mingling  in  the  stir  of  the  general 
exodus  amid  a  confusion  of  footmen  running  to  and 
fro  in  the  beautiful  waning  light  of  a  fine  June  day, 
while  the  parasols,  pink,  white,  mauve,  or  green 
opened  like  so  many  large  flowers.  Little  explo- 
sions of  laughter  were  still  coming  from  the  various 
groups,  as  if  they  had  been  seeing  an  amusing 
piece  at  the  theatre.  The  little  humpback  had 
got  it  hot  —  five  years'  imprisonment  and  costs. 
But  how  comic  Margery  had  been  !  Marguerite  Oger 
was  exclaiming  in  fits,  '  Oh  my  dears,  my  dears ! ' 
and  Danjou,  escorting  Madame  Eviza  to  her  carriage, 
said  aloud  in  his  cynical  way,  '  It's  a  slap  in  the 
face  for  the  Academie,  well  planted  —  but  it  was 
cleverly  done.' 

Leonard  Astier,  who  was  walking  alone,  heard 
Danjou's  remark  as  well  as  others,  in  spite  of  the 
warnings  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  '  Take  care — 


298  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

there  he  is.'  It  signified  to  him  the  beginning  of 
his  fall  in  estimation,  consequent  on  the  general 
knowledge  of  his  folly  and  the  amusement  of 
Paris. 

'  Take  my  arm,  my  dear  master ! '  said  Freydet, 
who  had  been  carried  to  him  by  the  strong  impulse 
of  affection. 

'Ah,  my  dear  friend,  how  much  good  you  do 
me ! '  said  the  old  man  in  a  dull,  broken  voice. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  some  time.  The 
trees  on  the  quay  cast  a  tracery  of  shade  upon  the 
stones  below  ;  the  sounds  of  the  street  and  the  river 
echoed  in  the  joyous  air.  It  was  one  of  those  days 
on  which  human  wretchedness  seems  to  have  been 
reprieved. 

'  Where  are  we  going  ? '  asked  Freydet. 

'Anywhere — except  home,'  answered  the  elder 
man,  who  felt  a  child's  terror  at  the  thought  of  the 
scene  his  wife  would  inflict  on  him  at  dinner. 

They  dined  together  at  the  Point-du-Jour  after 
walking  a  long  time  by  the  river.  When  poor  Astier 
returned  home  very  late  the  friendly  words  of  his  old 
pupil  and  the  sweetness  of  the  air  had  succeeded  in 
restoring  his  peace  of  mind.  He  had  got  over  his 
five  hours  in  the  stocks  on  the  bench  of  the  Eighth 
Chamber — five  hours  to  endure  with  bound  hands 
the  insulting  laughter  of  the  crowd  and  the   vitriol 


ONE  OF  THE  '  FORTY  '  299 

squirt  of  the  counsel.  '  Laugh,  apes,  laugh !  Pos- 
terity will  judge ! '  was  the  thought  with  which  he 
consoled  himself  as  he  crossed  the  large  courts  of  the 
Institute,  wrapped  in  slumber,  with  unlighted  windows 
and  great  dark  foursquare  holes  right  and  left  where 
the  staircases  came  down.  He  felt  his  way  upstairs 
and  reached  his  study  noiselessly  like  a  thief.  Since 
Paul's  marriage  and  his  quarrel  with  his  son  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  flinging  himself  down  every  night  on 
a  bed  made  up  in  the  study,  to  escape  the  interminable 
midnight  discussions  in  which  the  wife  always  comes 
off  victorious,  thanks  to  the  never-failing  support  of 
her  '  nerves ',  and  the  husband  ends  by  giving  way 
and  promising  everything  for  the  sake  of  peace  and 
permission  to  sleep. 

Sleep  !  Never  had  he  so  much  felt  the  need  of  it 
as  now,  at  the  end  of  his  long  day  of  emotion  and 
fatigue,  and  the  darkness  of  his  study  as  he  entered 
seemed  the  beginning  of  rest — when  in  the  angle  of 
the  window  he  dimly  distinguished  a  human  figure. 

'  Well,  I  hope  you  are  satisfied.'  It  was  his  wife ! 
She  was  on  the  look  out  for  him,  waiting,  and  her 
angry  voice  stopped  him  short  in  the  dark  to  listen. 
1  You  have  won  your  cause  ;  you  insisted  on  making 
yourself  a  mockery,  and  you  have  done  it — daubed 
and  drenched  yourself  with  ridicule,  till  you  won't 
be  able  to  show  yourself  again !     Much  reason  you 


300  ONE  OF   THE  'FORTY' 

had  to  cry  out  that  your  son  was  disgracing  you,  to 
insult  and  to  curse  your  son  !  Poor  boy,  it  is  well  he 
has  changed  his  name,  now  that  yours  has  become  so 
identified  with  ignorance  and  gullibility  that  no  one 
will  be  able  to  utter  it  without  a  smile.  And  all 
this,  if  you  please,  for  the  sake  of  your  historical 
work  !  Why,  you  foolish  man,  who  knows  anything 
about  your  historical  work  ?  Who  can  possibly  care 
whether  your  documents  are  genuine  or  forged  ?  You 
know  that  nobody  reads  you.' 

She  went  on  and  on,  pouring  out  a  thin  stream  of 
voice  in  her  shrillest  tone ;  and  he  felt  as  if  he  were 
back  again  in  the  pillory,  listening  to  the  official 
abuse  as  he  had  done  all  day,  without  interrupting, 
without  even  a  threatening  gesture,  swallowing  the 
insults  as  he  had  in  court,  and  feeling  that  the  autho- 
rity was  above  attack  and  the  judge  one  not  to  be 
answered.  But  how  cruel  was  this  invisible  mouth 
which  bit  him,  and  wounded  him  all  over,  and  slowly 
mangled  in  its  teeth  his  pride  as  a  man  and  a 
writer ! 

His  books,  indeed !  Did  he  suppose  that  they 
had  got  him  into  the  Academie?  Why,  it  was  to 
his  wife  alone  that  he  owed  his  green  coat !  She  had 
spent  her  life  in  plotting  and  manoeuvring  to  break 
open  one  door  after  another  ;  sacrificed  all  her  youth 
to   such    intrigues,    and    such   intriguers,    as    made 


ONE  OF  THE  *  FORTY  '  30I 

her  sick  with  disgust.  'Why,  my  dear,  I  had  to! 
The  Academie  is  attained  by  talent,  of  which  you 
have  none,  or  a  great  name,  or  a  high  position.  You 
had  none  of  these  things.  So  I  came  to  the  rescue.' 
And  that  there  might  be  no  mistake  about  it,  that 
he  might  not  attribute  what  she  said  only  to  the  exas- 
peration of  a  woman  wounded  and  humiliated  in  her 
wifely  pride  and  her  blind  maternal  devotion,  she 
recalled  the  details  of  his  election,  and  reminded  him 
of  his  famous  remark  about  Madame  Astier's  veils 
that  smelt  of  tobacco,  though  he  never  smoked,  '  a 
remark,  my  dear,  that  has  done  more  to  make  you 
notorious  than  your  books.' 

He  gave  a  low  deep  groan,  the  stifled  cry  of  a 
man  who  stays  with  both  hands  the  life  escaping  from 
a  mortal  rent.  The  sharp  little  voice  went  on  un- 
altered. '  Ah  well,  pack  your  trunk,  do,  once  for  all ! 
Let  the  world  hear  no  more  of  you.  Fortunately 
your  son  is  rich  and  will  give  you  your  daily  bread. 
For  you  need  not  be  told  that  now  you  will  find  no 
publisher  or  magazine  to  take  your  rubbish,  and 
it  will  be  due  to  Paul's  supposed  infamy  that  you 
escape  starvation.' 

'This  is  more  than  I  can  bear,'  muttered  the 
poor  man  as  he  fled  away,  away  from  the  lashing 
fury.  And  as  he  felt  his  way  along  the  walls,  and 
passed  through  the  passage,  down  the  stairs,  across 


302  ONE  OF  THE  'FORTY' 

the  echoing  court,  he  muttered  almost  in  tears,  '  More 
than  I  can  bear,  more  than  I  can  bear.' 

Whither  is  he  going  ?  Straight  before  him,  as  if 
in  a  dream.  He  crosses  the  square  and  is  half  over  the 
bridge,  before  the  fresh  air  revives  him.  He  sits 
down  on  a  bench,  takes  off  his  hat  and  pulls  up  his 
coat  sleeves  to  still  the  beating  of  his  pulses ;  and  the 
regular  lapping  of  the  water  makes  him  calmer.  He 
comes  to  himself  again,  but  consciousness  brings  only 
memory  and  pain.  What  a  woman  !  what  a  monster ! 
And  to  think  that  he  has  lived  five-and-thirty  years 
with  her  and  not  known  her  !  A  shudder  of  disgust 
runs  over  him  at  the  recollection  of  all  the  horrors 
he  has  just  heard.  She  has  spared  nothing  and  left 
within  him  nothing  alive,  not  even  the  pride  which 
still  kept  him  erect,  his  faith  in  his  work  and  his 
belief  in  the  Academic  At  the  thought  of  the 
Academie  he  instinctively  turned  round.  Beyond 
the  deserted  bridge,  beyond  the  wider  avenue  which 
leads  to  the  foot  of  the  building,  the  pile  of  the 
Palais  Mazarin,  massed  together  in  the  darkness,  up- 
reared  its  portico  and  its  dome,  as  on  the  cover  of  the 
Didot  books,  so  often  gazed  upon  in  his  young  days 
and  in  the  ambitious  aspirations  of  his  whole  life. 
That  dome,  that  block  of  stone,  had  been  the  delusive 
object  of  his  hopes,  and  the  cause  of  all  his  misery. 


ONE  OF  THE  *  FORTY  '  303 

It  was  there  he  sought  his  wife,  feeling  neither  love 
nor  delight,  but  for  the  hope  of  the  Institute.  And 
he  has  had  the  coveted  seat,  and  he  knows  the  price ! 

Just  then  there  was  a  sound  of  steps  and  laughter 
on  the  bridge  ;  it  came  nearer.  Some  students  with 
their  mistresses  were  coming  back  to  their  rooms. 
Afraid  of  being  recognised,  he  rose  and  leant  over 
the  parapet ;  and  while  the  party  passed  close  to 
him  without  seeing  him,  he  reflected  with  bitterness 
that  he  had  never  amused  himself,  never  allowed  him- 
self such  a  fine  night's  holiday  of  song  beneath 
the  starlight.  His  ambition  had  always  been  fixed 
unbendingly  on  the  approach  to  yonder  dome,  the 
dome,  as  it  were,  of  a  temple,  whose  beliefs  and  whose 
ritual  he  had  respected  in  anticipation. 

And  what  had  yonder  dome  given  him  in  return  ? 
Nothing,  absolutely  nothing.  Even  on  the  day  of  his 
admission,  when  the  speeches  were  over  and  the 
double-edged  compliments  at  an  end,  he  had  felt  the 
sensation  of  emptiness  and  deluded  hope.  He  had 
said  to  himself  as  he  drove  home  to  change  his 
green  coat,  '  Have  I  really  got  in  ?  Why,  it  can't  be 
like  this.'  Since  then,  by  dint  of  constant  lying  to 
himself  and  echoing,  with  his  colleagues,  that  it  was 
delightful,  delicious,  he  had  ended  by  believing  so.  But 
now  the  veil  had  fallen  away,  and  he  saw  the  truth  ; 
and  he  would  have  liked  to  proclaim  with  a  thousand 


304  ONE  OF  THE  '  FORTY  ' 

tongues  to  the  youth  of  France, '  The  Academie  is 
a  snare  and  a  delusion.  Go  your  way  and  do  your 
work.  Sacrifice  nothing  to  the  Academie,  for  it  has 
nothing  to  offer  you,  neither  gift,  nor  glory,  nor  the 
best  thing  of  all,  self-contentment.  It  is  neither  a 
retreat  nor  a  refuge  ;  it  is  a  hollow  idol,  a  religion 
that  offers  no  consolations.  The  great  troubles  of 
life  come  upon  you  there  as  elsewhere  ;  under  that 
dome  men  have  killed  themselves,  men  have  gone 
mad  there !  Those  who  in  their  agony  have  turned 
to  the  Academie,  and  weary  of  loving,  or  weary  of 
cursing,  have  stretched  forth  their  arms  to  her,  have 
clasped  but  a  shadow.' 

The  old  schoolmaster  was  speaking  aloud,  bare- 
headed, grasping  the  parapet  with  both  hands  as  in 
old  days  he  used  to  hold  the  edge  of  his  desk  at 
lessons.  The  river  rolled  on  below,  tinged  with 
hues  of  night,  between  its  rows  of  winking  lamps. 
An  uncanny  thing  is  the  speechless  life  of  light, 
moving,  and  looking,  and  never  saying  what  it 
means.  On  the  quay  the  song  of  a  drunken  man 
died  quavering  away  in  the  distance,  '  When  Cu- 
pid ...  in  the  morn  .  .  .  awakes.'  The  accent 
showed  that  the  merry  singer  was  an  Auvergnat 
making  his  way  back  to  his  coal-barge.  It  re- 
minded him  of  Teyssedre,  the  polisher,  and  his 
glass  of  good  wine.     He  saw  him  wiping  his  mouth 


ONE   01'    THE   'FORTY'  305 

on  his  shirt-sleeve.  '  It's  the  only  real  good  in 
life.'  Even  a  humble  natural  joy  like  that  he  had 
never  known  ;  he  must  needs  envy  even  Teyssedre. 
Absolutely  alone,  with  no  refuge,  no  breast  on  which 
to  weep,  he  realised  that  '  that  woman '  was  right, 
and  '  the  trunk  had  better  be  packed  for  good  and  all, 
Leonard.' 

In  the  morning  some  policemen  found  on  a  bench 
on  the  Pont  des  Arts  a  wide-brimmed  hat,  one  of 
those  hats  which  preserve  something  of  the  expression 
of  their  owner.  Inside  was  a  large  gold  watch  and 
a  visiting  card — '  Leonard  Astier-Rehu,  Permanent 
Secretary  of  the  Academie  Francaise.'  Right  across 
the  line  of  print  had  been  written  in  pencil  the 
words,  '  I  die  here  of  my  own  will.*  Of  his  own 
will  indeed  it  was !  Even  better  than  the  little 
phrase  in  the  large,  firm  handwriting  did  the  expres- 
sion of  his  features — the  set  teeth,  the  projection  of 
the  lower  jaw — declare  his  fixed  determination  to  die, 
when  after  a  morning's  search  the  dredgers  found 
the  body  caught  in  the  wide  meshes  of  an  iron  net 
surrounding  some  baths  for  women,  quite  close  to 
the  bridge.  It  was  taken  first  to  the  emergency- 
station,  where  Picheral  came  to  identify  it,  a  strange 
sight  himself,  as  he  fluttered  along  the  wide  bank, 
with  bare  bald  head  and  in  a  frock  coat.  It  was  not 
the  first  time  that  a  Permanent  Secretary  had  been 

X 


306  ONE   OF   THE   '  FORTY  ' 

taken  out  of  the  Seine  ;  the  same  thing  had  occurred 
in  the  time  of  Picheral's  father,  under  very  similar 
circumstances.  And  Picheral  the  son  did  not  seem 
much  affected,  only  annoyed  that  he  could  not  wait 
till  the  evening  to  carry  Astier-Rehu  home.  But  it 
was  necessary  to  take  advantage  of  the  absence  of 
Madame  Astier  (who  was  breakfasting  with  her  son) 
so  as  to  spare  her  too  great  a  shock. 

The  clock  of  the  Palais  Mazarin  was  striking  one, 
when  with  the  heavy  tramp  of  the  bearers  the  stretcher 
from  the  station  was  brought  under  the  archway, 
marking  its  road  with  ominous  splashes  of  water.  At 
the  foot  of  Staircase  B  there  was  a  halt  to  take  breath. 
Over  the  dazzling  court  was  a  great  sharp-lined 
square  of  blue  sky.  The  covering  of  the  stretcher  had 
been  raised,  and  the  features  of  Leonard  Astier-Rehu 
were  visible  for  the  last  time  to  his  colleagues  on  the 
Dictionary  Committee,  who  had  just  broken  up  their 
meeting  in  sign  of  mourning.  They  stood  round, 
with  their  hats  off,  not  a  little  shocked.  Other  people 
also  stopped  to  see  what  it  was,  workmen,  clerks,  and 
apprentices,  for  the  Institute  serves  as  a  passage  from 
the  Rue  Mazarin  to  the  quay.  Among  them  was 
kind-hearted  Freydet,  who,  as  he  wiped  his  eyes, 
thought  in  his  heart,  and  was  ashamed  to  think  it, 
that  here  was  another  vacancy.  Old  Jean  Rehu  was 
just  coming  downstairs  for  his  daily   constitutional. 


ONE   OF   THE   'FORTY'  307 

He  had  heard  nothing,  seemed  surprised  to  see  the 
crowd  beneath  him  as  he  stood  on  one  of  the  lower 
steps,  and  came  nearer  to  look,  in  spite  of  the  scared 
gestures  of  those  who  tried  to  keep  him  back.  Did 
he  understand  ?  Did  he  recognise  the  corpse? 
His  face  remained  calm,  so  did  his  eyes,  as  expres- 
sionless as  those  of  the  bust  of  Minerva  under  her 
helmet  of  bronze.  And  after  a  long  look,  as  they 
turned  the  striped  canvas  down  over  the  poor  dead 
face,  he  went  on,  upright  and  proud,  with  his  tall 
shadow  stalking  beside  him,  a  '  deity '  deathless  in- 
deed, while  a  half-mad  senile  shake  of  the  head 
seemed  to  say:  '  That's  another  of  the  things  I  have 
seen.' 


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